


The Flavor of the Wind

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Henna-painted leafs grew up her toes, wrapping themselves around her ankles, and for a second he wondered how far up her leg the decoration went." AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a historical AU, set in a time and place when slavery was common, and it involves slave!Tony and slave trader!Ziva, so please be aware of this before you go in.
> 
> Yes, there is sex in it, too. And although this is Tony/Ziva all the way, there is one Tony/Tali scene. (I did mention that this is an Alternate Universe, yes...?)
> 
> Added as a reminder, because it seems to be necessary - Ziva is in her mid- to late twenties in this one. That makes Tali somewhere around twenty. She's far from a kid. Although she does like to have her childish moments. ;)
> 
>  **author's note:** A lot of research went into this one once it was clear that it isn't just a crack!fic but would be something based on actual historical events. If there are remaining mistakes, please forgive me - I obviously haven't been there myself. ;) And yes, there is a lot of backstory in this one that is only hinted at. That is intentional. There is also most likely a sequel that will come out of it.
> 
>  **love & thank you:** There are a few people without whom this would not exist, at least not in the form it has come to be in, and I owe them each a big thank you. One is countryole, for breathing the spark of life into it, for saying "DO IT!" and happily plotting away with me. The second is anr, for her incredible feel for the bigger picture and for giving me Oz. (We're talking about the original novel here, which was first printed in 1900. The movie, obviously, came around much too late for this setting. ;) ) And the third is silencero, for being my alpha reader and official cheerleader. And for giving me aunt Nettie, even though he insists that he never does anything. ;) I love you, guys. Really, I do.
> 
> A pdf version is available for download - [134 pages, 1.2 MB, includes the pretty pictures](http://www.buchschubsen.de/FOTW_print.pdf)

There were moments when Anthony DiNozzo thought that he could actually get used to the sun scorching his neck, and that was something he would have never believed if someone had suggested it a mere week ago.

But a week ago, he had also been a mere agent of the Office of Naval Intelligence. A week ago, he had taken on an assignment issued directly by the President, and he had taken Roosevelt's offer gladly because it sounded like the chance of a lifetime and the best adventure ever. A mere week ago he'd had no idea that this assignment would blow up in his face like none before ever had and that it would leave him cut off from the rest of his unit shortly after landing, stuck in the middle of nowhere.

He turned his head and raised a hand to scratch the stubble on his cheeks. Three days since he had been taken prisoner just a few miles east of Tangier. Three days since he had last seen his team. He had no idea what had happened to them after that. They had looked like they could stand their ground, but of course that last impression had come before someone had clubbed him into unconsciousness.

He rubbed his neck, feeling the heat that had soaked into his skin since his torn shirt had come off, and he wondered when it would turn into the itch of a real sunburn. Couldn't be all that long now. 

Morocco had presented itself as far less of a desert than he had thought it would be - that's what one got for not doing proper research before diving headlong into the adventure offered - but its sun still had a fierce temper, and he hadn't been prepared for that. This should have been a simple sneak in, get the job done, sneak out mission, after all, and it should have involved mostly night travels. Getting captured by armed horsemen had put this part of the plan to rest really effectively.

A hectic voice yelled something in Arabic at him, and he rose from his crouch when the barrel of a rifle poked him in the side. He still didn't understand the man but by now he knew enough about his situation to guess that it was most likely another potential buyer coming to take a closer look at the merchandise. Or maybe it was finally his turn on the auction row.


	2. Chapter One

** Tetouan, Morocco - 1904 **

The first thing he saw of her was a slender foot and an open-toed sandal, embroidered with bright and fanciful patterns, disturbing the dust before him. Henna-painted leafs grew up her toes, wrapping themselves around her ankles, and for a second he wondered how far up her leg the decoration went.

Her long dress was a mixture of pants, tunic, and coat, and the thick cloth was of a creamy white that looked terribly out of place in the dirty sands of the open yard. Then again, it would have looked out of place in almost any part of the town.

He raised his chin to get a better look at the first female that had come to inspect him - and yes, he could get that from just an ankle, he was a DiNozzo after all - but the sun stood so high by now that for a second all he saw was a white figure in front of the endless rows of whitewashed houses. He blinked, raising a hand to shadow his eyes, and that brought the vivid orange-and-blue patterns stitched into the edges of her tunic into sharper focus.

His gaze slid higher, taking in the caramel skin of her neck that stood in sharp contrast to the light color of her dress. He pursed his lips when he took in the long headscarf made out of more white cloth that she wore instead of the veiled _haik_ the few women he had seen so far favored. It fell down to her shoulders, and when she moved, it jingled softly with the plethora of tiny coin-like metal plates sewn to it. She didn't move now, though, just stood there and stared down at him, and so, for some reason, he remained just as frozen, trying to look at a face that was hidden by the sun standing high in her back.

Eventually, the Arab yelled something at him again, and the rifle poked him in the ribs once more, so he figured it was the required time to stand up and present himself.

He stood slowly, his hands falling into the habit of brushing dust off his pants - a routine that was pretty much useless since he had come to this land. There was dirt everywhere, on his hands, his skin, between his toes... even his tongue felt dirty. And by now, his pants were clearly beyond hope. Still, it was a reflex taught by civilization that was hard to get rid of.

The woman watched him quietly, unmoving save for her eyes following his movements.

She wasn't as tall as he had thought at first, just about coming up to his shoulders, and really slender. He could see that even in the wide dress that hid most of her figure. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, and he couldn't see her hands, just a bunch of bangles and bracelets encircling her wrists. His eyes narrowed as he finally glanced at her face - pretty, clean lines, but blank and completely expressionless. If anything was showing in her features, it was a slight arrogance that felt off in a face that belonged to someone only in her mid-twenties.

Her eyes were dark and big under black brows, emphasized by a dark smear of _kohl_ , and they met his for only a heartbeat. Then she dropped her gaze to take in the width of his shoulders and the curve of his neck. And yes, by now he was almost used to being looked at like a prized bull, but for some reason, it irked him coming from her.

Movement at her side caught his attention, and since it was his profession to notice things, it irritated him even more that he hadn't noticed her companion before - another girl, a few years younger than she was and even shorter, but much more lively. Her dress was darker, a sandy shade of yellow, and the headscarf she wore had fewer ornaments sewn to it, but otherwise she looked like a copy of the woman - except for the tattooed tribal markings in her face that the older one lacked. Three jagged lines that looked a bit like barbed wire adorned the younger one's chin and met just at the edge of her bottom lip, and three tiny dots sat right between her brows. 

She grinned at him now and spoke in a language that wasn't Arabic but something that strained the throat just by listening to it. She was a pretty one, too, though not as openly stunning as her companion, and Anthony was almost ready to dismiss her when she stepped forward and ran a curious hand down his bare chest. His head snapped around at the unexpectedly bold touch, and he glared at her while she was busying herself with exploring his shoulders and testing how his muscles felt to her hands. 

Her touch came so easily, without any sense of modesty interfering, that it threw him off-balance. He'd had his fair share of women in his life, but he certainly wasn't used to them fondling him quite as... intimately. At least not while a dozen people stood around them, watching the show. He tried to stay calm while she ran a hand down his back to test the feel of his ass, and it turned out to be easier than he thought it might be... and harder, curiously, when his eyes started flicking back to the girl's partner.

And he found that the older one was still watching him in total silence. Her eyes, showing the rich, dark brown of really expensive hardwood, met his gaze so calmly that he felt himself frowning at her eventually because her stern expression irritated him to no end. And yes, he had to admit to himself that by now he would have liked a reaction - any reaction - out of her. That, for some reason, it seemed to matter what she thought of him. And that some part of him would have liked to know if she found him pleasing enough to bid for him.

A slim hand ran down the front of his pants, and he jumped at the too intimate touch he hadn't expected. 

"Hey!" he protested and scowled at her, grabbing the girl's wrist out of reflex and pulling the exploring hand away from his body sharply. 

The rifle hit his side in warning and made him wince, but the girl just laughed, loud and hard. Then she flicked her wrist in a weird move that twisted his arm and freed hers. Grinning, she went back to the older one's side, muttering something else in her rough tongue, and without a second glance, they both turned and left him to the sun beating down harshly on his back.

He blinked and found to his surprise that his heart was pounding hard in his throat, and that left him wondering what had just happened.

"She right," the Arab said behind him in broken English. "You trouble."

DiNozzo didn't reply, too busy with watching a white-clad figure move gracefully through the mass of noisy people cluttering the slave _souk_. He waited for her to turn once more, almost willing her to give him just one last glance over her shoulder. 

She never did.

*** *** ***

His auction was the weirdest thing he had ever encountered. He idly thought about pitching a report to McClure's once he was firmly back in civilization. The whole of it was as far from being civilized and in any way organized as the sun was from the moon. It wasn't conducted on a stage or even the center of the souk, but held right in the middle of the customers, involving them in lively discussions and hands-on testing of the merchandise.

The Arab had bound his wrists earlier with some coarse rope and was dragging him along now on that impromptu leash, showing him off to potential buyers and praising his assets loudly. Soon Anthony found himself being shoved into the faces and hands of strangers repeatedly while the Arab collected bids, and it all happened in such a fast and noisy way that he soon lost his orientation. The smells of the _souk_ added to his confusion, assaulting his nose with the weirdest mixture of spices and stale sweat.

Most of the buyers dropped out soon, and the part of his brain that made him a good observer told him that he seemed to be worth a good price, if he were to go by the speed at which the remaining bidders gave their offers. Then a tall, dark-skinned man in a striped, hooded _djellaba_ grabbed his shoulders and kneaded his muscles expertly and with too much pleasure for DiNozzo's liking, and he wasn't so sure suddenly that he should be really pleased about the men outbidding themselves.

The tall man had just placed his bid with the Arab when Anthony saw her face again, at the other side of the marketplace this time and watching the auction just as quietly as she had stared at him earlier. And while he found himself trying to attract her attention and make her meet his gaze, she already raised a hand and flicked her wrist, and apparently that had signaled a bid that made the Arab very happy.

The dark-skinned bidder wasn't as happy, though, and from the angry stare he gave her across the crowd - and the way she returned the glare - they seemed to know each other. 

Bidding turned into a weirdly aggressive back and forth between just her and the dark male from then on, and every time the man issued another bid, Anthony felt himself breaking into a slight sweat because getting bought by him didn't seem by far as attractive a prospect. He'd know much better how to deal with a pretty woman, that much was sure, so he kept rooting for her to win this obvious pissing contest.

The other girl showed up at her side while discussions got really heated for a moment, and he watched his potential owner lean down to her younger shadow and whisper something to her while she waved a hand at the Arab lazily, calling him over. The merchant dragged Anthony along excitedly, obviously trying to please the woman in hopes of a better price. And for some reason that insisted on hovering just at the edge of his focus, Anthony found himself following her call just as eagerly.

The tattooed girl had vanished into the crowd by the time they reached the woman, and the Arab followed the same routine he had done a few times now, almost pushing DiNozzo into her arms. Just this time, he was illustrating the potential slave's good assets with grabs to the corresponding body parts until Anthony was ready to shove his elbow into the man's face.

The woman watched his growing tension during the presentation with not a single muscle twitching in her own face. He glared at her, getting even more annoyed because she met his eyes in such a calm way that he felt his own jaw clench harder in response. His eyebrows drew together into a frown while the Arab kept on prattling at his side and offering the merchandise to her for a good feel.

She didn't respond at first, and it made him nervous because whatever way, women simply reacted to him. The reactions weren't always favorably, granted, but he _was_ able to get _something_ out of them... usually. Her perfect mask of a bored customer irritated him beyond words, and he had no idea what to make of it. 

In the end, though, she did slip up, just for a heartbeat, but it was enough for him when he saw her eyes flick from his face to somewhere behind him, glancing once at the tall man they had left behind on the other side of the _souk_. Suddenly he was pretty sure where the younger one had run off to, and he felt like grinning, because damn it, she _was_ interested after all, she just tried to play it casual to get him at a bargain price, and--

While he was still fighting the smirk that threatened to rise, she cocked her head and stepped closer to him. And just like that, she pushed her hand between his legs and grabbed him hard through his pants. Testing the merchandise, like she had been asked to.

His chest heaved with a sharp breath at the unexpected sensation, and he felt dizzy when she started stroking him experimentally. Her face, still so very relaxed and unmoved, seemed much closer all of a sudden, and yeah, she had good hands, and she knew how to touch a man, so he felt his body react all too easily. 

He felt his jaw clench at the heat she drew from him, and he tried to stay in control of this. Tried to remember that he wasn't in bed with her but surrounded by a noisy crowd that hungered for entertainment. Tried to listen to the feeble voice of his upbringing, telling him in no uncertain terms that this was just not a prudent thing to do, especially not out in the open like that. But soon enough, he found himself leaning into her for more of that sure touch, that strong hand on his cock. 

Words rolled off her tongue then, her unexpectedly soft voice sounding slightly amused underneath the rough language she used, and he couldn't even blame her because that much eagerness on his part _was_ embarrassing. And yet, he couldn't help it, couldn't keep his hips from moving into her touch willingly, because he hadn't been with a woman in far too long to pretend not being affected by her now.

She let him move closer while she was stroking his whole length now, and even the Arab's babbling right beside his ear didn't distract him enough to keep a clear head, much less keep him from wanting more of this. And then she showed him a reaction, after all, and her eyebrow twitched, just once, in something that could have been approval, quirking up in the tiniest movement that was already over by the time she called her bid.

The Arab squealed and repeated what seemed to be a more than adequate price, and Anthony blinked when the man tugged at his bound wrists, trying to drag him back to the other customer for a possible raise. Her hand fell from his cock, and it left him feeling drugged and even more out of focus when he turned his head to glance at the competition. 

The shadow of a girl dressed in creamy yellows stood beside the dark-skinned trader now, face shiny with false innocence while one of her hands seemed to be stuck deep into the folds of his _djellaba_. The man's face was slightly paler than it had been mere minutes before, and it didn't really surprise Anthony when he shook his head now and declined the offer to raise his bid.

The Arab clucked his tongue in disappointment, but when he turned back towards the woman his face was split by a wide, eager grin that was all charming. She shook his hand to close the deal, and while she rattled down a few instructions, Anthony watched the girl step away from the other bidder, tucking away the curved dagger she had kept to some very private parts of his anatomy.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he was no longer quite so sure if that deal had really been for his benefit.

*** *** ***

She turned away from him once more as soon as the deal was sealed, and that left Anthony alone with his too-fast mouth and his common sense still distracted.

"Hey," he said, touching her arm. By the look he received, he almost expected to lose his hand, though, and suddenly he had no idea what to say to her, really. She wouldn't even understand him anyway.

"Thank you, I guess," he finished awkwardly, and she blinked, staring at him curiously.

Then she turned and left without another word, and Anthony found himself grinding his teeth at the way she had dismissed him again. Like he was a mere speck of dust staining her pretty shoes.

Part of him insisted that he should not feel bothered by her that much. That he should, in fact, be much more affected by the fact that he had just been sold off like a kettle. The irritation about that refused to rise, though, maybe because it was still so alien a concept and so different from the simple rescue mission he had set out for when he had come to this land.

He had known before that slavery was practiced in large parts of Africa, of course. He had also known that the keeping of Christian slaves had long been outlawed, especially in Morocco, and so he had simply assumed that this would never concern him.

Apparently, things worked a little different from what he knew, and apparently, it did concern him after all.

He sighed when one of the guards grabbed his rope leash and dragged him away with the same flood of words on his lips that he had heard them use to drive on their stubborn mules. It was tempting to resist, just to make his point. It was also useless and idiotic because it would mark him as a troublemaker and reduce his chances at escape later. Cooperation seemed the smoother way to go for now.

Maybe that was the real reason why he was not bothered too much by the fact that he had been temporarily turned into a slave instead of a federal officer - he didn't intend to stay one for long. His mind, already going with the flow of things and judging the possibilities, would work something out eventually, until he had a chance to get back to his team.

And until then, he would do what he always did best - he would adapt.

*** *** ***

He was delivered to his new owner quite unceremoniously about an hour later. His rope leash was exchanged for a tiny bag presumably containing the auction price, and once again he was treated like one of the mules when the guard led him to the side and tied him to one of the poles until he could be dealt with properly.

His eyes flicked back and forth along the row of mules and the people that were busy loading wares onto their backs. Some of the packs were almost bigger than the beasts themselves, and Anthony wondered - not for the first time since he had come to Morocco - how these sturdy little things could carry loads like that. Especially since he knew by now that most of them would carry a rider later, too.

Dark-skinned hands tore at leather straps and tightened ropes, and by the frantic activity it seemed like they would not stay much longer in this place. Which was not the worst thing in his situation. Chances of escape would be easier once they had left Tetouan, and he counted on being watched less once their group was out in the open.

He noticed soon that he wasn't the only live property that had been purchased: a few other men had been tied up between the mules just like him, and Anthony watched them with a slight frown, a queasy feeling rising in his stomach. So far he had entertained the somewhat romantic notion of having been bought by a spoiled, rich woman who was in need of entertainment but now he was no longer sure about that. Maybe his ego had played tricks on him and he had been bought just for the strength of his arms, after all.

He watched the other slaves out of the corner of his eye. One giant who had pockmarked skin of the deepest black Anthony had ever seen scratched his nose lazily. His head was shaved bald except for one long lock of hair on the right side of it. A few yards down the row of poles two younger men with skin dark brown like dates and curly tufts of hair were whispering to each other while they tried to not look scared out of their wits, and they were almost doing a good job at it until the black one suddenly barked something into their direction which made them shake. The giant exploded into guttural laughter, then turned his head to look at Anthony, saying something in yet another language DiNozzo had never heard before. He shrugged and raised his hands, palms up, and the man grinned and slapped a hand the size of a soup bowl to his chest.

"M'Besa," he said, and Anthony understood enough to point at himself and reply with his own name.

"Slaves, like mules or dogs, have no need for names," a soft voice said at his side, and Anthony turned his head to see the dagger-happy girl standing beside him. The English words rolled off her tongue easily enough, even though they were tainted by a heavy accent, and it was a nice surprise that made him smile at her broadly. It was a shame, really, that she seemed to be just as blissfully unimpressed by his charms as her companion had been.

"You will forget soon how you were called before you became our property," she said, raising an eyebrow at him and killing his smile rather effectively. Then she threw a bundle of light brown cloth at him. "Here. We don't want your pretty skin all burned up before we even reach the Rif."

Anthony's hands stilled in the middle of unfolding the cloth, and his pulse picked up speed while he stared at her, taking in the meaning of her words.

"The Rif?" he asked, and that made the wiry men whisper once more. No wonder they were agitated.

The Rif mountains were the one place of Morocco Anthony had actually heard stories about long before he had set foot on its soil, and they had been bad ones, mostly. The Rif was forbidden for travel, especially where Europeans were concerned. It wasn't safe because it was the home of the most notorious Berber tribes. The ones that lost too many of their own people to brigandry and blood feuds. The ones who, apparently, didn't feel too bothered by law and still kept Christian slaves. The Raisuli was one of the Rif Berbers, too, but for some reason this seemed secondary right now.

The tattooed girl watched him for a while, taking in his appearance lazily before she decided he was worth an answer. With a shrug, she replied, "We did all the trading that we came to Tetouan for, now we will go home."

Anthony concentrated on carefully unfolding the _djellaba_ she had given him. Putting it on presented a minor problem, but when he raised his hands to remind her that he was bound, the girl took out her knife and cut his wrists free so he could slip into the hooded, woolen robe that most of the local men wore. 

Anthony watched her silently while his mind was already racing ahead. He couldn't go to the Rif, that much was sure - not while he was on his own, without any protection or weapons. He had no idea how to get out of there alive again. So it came down to him finding an opportunity for escape as soon as they left Tetouan, before they ventured too far into the mountains.

"What's your name?" he asked the girl who was still watching him openly, seemingly enjoying the sight. Maybe she was immune to his charms, but not to his body, that much was obvious.

"So obsessed with names!" she laughed and then sighed softly when he pulled the robe over his head. The _djellaba_ 's wool was coarse and scratchy, but it would do its job and protect his skin.

He stared up at her quietly, waiting for the answer to his question, and after a while, she grinned at him again. "I am called Tali."

"And hers?" he asked, jerking his chin to where he had seen her companion put a high-peaked moorish saddle on one of the mules.

"She is Ziva," Tali said, then gave him a knowing smirk. "But you will not address her unless she asks you to."

For some reason, that answer rubbed him the wrong way, like... just about everything the women had done to him so far. He knew it was a silly thing to be upset about, but he couldn't help it, and so he found himself frowning at her while a seething anger rose in him once again.

She met his gaze so calmly that it only stirred his annoyance. "So she bought me as your pet?" he pressed out through gritted teeth.

Tali laughed, the same rude, loud bark she had given him just before the auction, and he wasn't sure if she was just that easily amused or if he kept saying funny things.

"She bought you for profit," she clarified and squatted down beside him while she tied him back up with the remnants of the rope. She glanced at him sideways, giving him an appraising look. "But maybe she will let me play with you."

Then she grinned broadly and winked at him, and just like that, she was on her feet again and went off to help loading the mules.

Anthony rolled that new piece of information around in his head. So he was to be sold on. All the more reason to find a way out of this situation as soon as possible.

His gaze kept drifting to a slim, white-clad figure, though, and while he was watching her, his mind got distracted from the task at hand.

"Ziva," he murmured, trying out how the name would feel on his tongue.

*** *** ***

The group was ready to head out of town not too long after that, and Anthony, like the other slaves, was urged to his feet and motioned to climb on top of one of the mules. The one exception was the giant M'Besa, whose feet would have dragged along in the dirt if he had sat on one of the ugly little things, and after a short discussion he volunteered to walk.

Anthony eyed the beast he had been pointed to just as warily as it watched him. He wasn't even fond of horses, but he knew how to treat them, at least.

"Don't bite," he ordered the mule while he climbed on top of the rolls of cloth that had been strapped to its back, and it snorted rudely and danced to the side as if to say he surely wasn't worth _that_ effort.

The load of cloth made for a comfortable seat at least, and after he had gotten used to the quick-paced gait, part of his tension fled and he felt his thoughts drift while their small group made its way through the narrow streets of Tetouan.

The two women mostly rode up front on mules that were saddled and didn't carry any extra load except for a few small bundles of what seemed to be personal belongings and travel gear. Two guards up front, then the three other slaves and him, three more guards that brought up the rear of their little group... or not so little, actually. He would have to be sneaky instead of just making a run for it.

The slaves weren't the problem. They probably had as little loyalties to their new mistresses as DiNozzo had. But the guards were something to keep in mind, with two of them carrying rifles around the whole time, resting across their laps. All of them also wore long, curved daggers tucked into their belts, and two had additional curved sabers.

It didn't feel particularly desirable to get into a fight with them. He was a good shot himself, true, but these rifles were quite different from the weapons he was used to, and he had no experience whatsoever when it came to sabers and daggers.

They left the city through the Southern gate, and soon after that Anthony's thoughts of flight were interrupted by the overwhelming fertility of the land they were passing through. He had certainly not expected to find peach orchards and pomegranates ripe for the picking when coming to Morocco, all nesting in the rows and rows of green hills surrounding Tetouan. The landscape was so lush and overflowing with vegetation that for a while he couldn't help but stare at the way it unfolded before his eyes, blossoming in abundance.

One thing he learned early on was that the mules needed constant attention and urging on. If one forgot that, they tended to wander off the path and do their own thing, and the two wiry slaves and a few of the guards soon fell into a constant clucking of tongues, coupled with a stream of expletives and branches or sticks slapping the hind legs at regular intervals. Some of the mules were not quite as stubborn and reacted well to heels kicking their sides and their bridles being tugged at, but they still had to be regularly reminded of their purpose.

Anthony DiNozzo, though, very much like a mule lacking that constant attention, found his mind wandering all too often, and that also meant that his own mule slowed down regularly, sometimes even stopping altogether to forget about its rider and rather nibble at some tasty herbs.

It didn't take long until Anthony felt the sharp pang of a stick in his back, jerking him back to the here and now. When he turned, he saw Tali, driving her mule just behind his, still pointing the stick at him that she had shoved him with. She jerked her chin towards the road, and obediently, Anthony kicked his mule and yelled at it for a minute.

It wasn't the last time both he and the cloud-minded beast needed a reminder to get their attention back on the road. It certainly wasn't the last time Anthony wished that she would just poke the mule instead of him, which would have perfectly served the purpose of urging the beast on without annoying _him_.

Apparently, though, she liked to annoy him, and after a while he found that her stick got busy as soon as his mule missed but one step. When he winced for what felt like the thousandth time and his lower back felt like it couldn't take that abuse any longer, he turned around, glaring at her angrily.

"Stop. Poking. Me," he hissed, and the mule tilted its ears back and jumped at the annoyance in his voice.

Tali, though, just looked at him with her eyebrow quirking up in an almost perfect imitation of her companion.

"Then stop falling behind," she said.

Anthony felt his jaw clench, and for a second his hands tightened on the reins. Then he kicked his mule.

*** *** ***

They didn't stop for a rest because they'd had a late start and apparently the women wanted to cover some ground before sunset, so one of the guards started handing out water and bags of dates and almonds for refreshment and the worst pangs of hunger.

By now, Anthony would have been ready to eat a horse, but since he had no say in the matter, he busied himself with urging on his mule and chewing dates. Strangely, the sweet things turned out to be enough to calm down his rumbling stomach easily.

His mind was once again restless and not busy enough, though, and so he kept looking at Tali's back, riding about a mule's length before him. And then he looked at the stone of a date in his hand. Looked at her back again and began to grin.

The first stone hit her leg, and she jumped and brushed it off, thinking it had been kicked up from the road. The second hit her back, and that one seemingly irritated her. The third, being snicked against her ear, made her turn around in the saddle and glare at him furiously.

Anthony gave her his most radiant, winning and, above all, innocent smile and chewed his dates.

*** *** ***

The small fire was burning low after dinner. The food had been prepared by two of the guards, who turned out to be pretty good cooks, and even though Anthony wasn't quite used yet to the spicy dishes the people here favored, he liked them. And the _couscous_ that had made a dozen flavors dance across his tongue at once filled his belly really well.

They had made camp just before sunset, in a field of crippled olive trees and fig palms, and while he had helped set up a single tent for the women, he had taken a good look at his surroundings, memorizing where the mules where tied up and the goods were stored. If he was careful, he might actually have a good shot at escape when the rest of their party was asleep.

He was still staring into the flames of the campfire when Tali came up beside him, and he was so deeply lost in thought that he didn't notice her at first. Then a small sack was thrown into his lap, and he jumped and jerked out of his reverie.

"So you do not run out of ammunition," the girl said to him, and he grimaced when she sat down beside him. She stared at him curiously. "Why are you so sour-faced, my pet?"

"Because I am not used to being a pet," he shot back sharply, and she clucked her tongue in understanding and petted his knee, and that, of course, did nothing to cool down his anger that seemed to rise too easily when these women were concerned.

"You will get used to it soon," she assured him, an indulgent smile on her face that said clearly he was just being silly.

"Would you?" he asked her heatedly, and she blinked, staring at him and not comprehending.

"I do not need to. I am not a slave," she finally replied.

That made him turn towards her and lean closer until his nose almost touched hers. "To tell you the truth, sweetlips, neither am I," he hissed angrily.

Tali, though, just watched him curiously, her face filled with a mild fascination.

"Are you British?" she suddenly asked, and Anthony drew back and stared at her, bafflement written all over his face. 

"Why would I be British?"

"Because that would explain a lot," she said, then got to her feet and brushed the dust off her clothes. "You have a lot to learn about our customs if you want to be a proper pet."

And so Anthony DiNozzo found himself grinding his teeth in frustration yet again, watching her back while she walked towards the tent in which she and Ziva would spend the night.

"And what if I don't want to be proper?" he yelled after her.

Tali, of course, ignored him.

*** *** ***

Night fell fast, and Anthony wrapped himself into the woolen blanket he had been handed, using one of the cloth packs he had been riding on the whole day as a headrest. He felt drained, and so he had to spend a good amount of attention on the fact of looking like he was asleep, but not actually being it. He began to recite _The Wizard of Oz_ in his head to stay awake, and when he was done with that, he went through a complete rendition of the musical extravaganza version, just for good measure.

A bird hooted softly somewhere in the trees, and he blinked, watching the guard make his round between the dark lumps of sleeping people. He tried to convince himself that just sneaking out and hoping to make a run for it wasn't utter madness, but he wasn't entirely successful. His hands clenched and unclenched around the blanket while the last of the campfire burned down with a sputtering sound.

He had spent some time with watching the mules and their handlers, picking out the docile ones, the ones that he had a better chance of stealing and them actually cooperating with him more or less quietly instead of resisting and rising suspicion. He had decided on the white mule that a wiry guard with many scars had ridden because it seemed hard to tire, bouncing with energy and almost happy to move along just so its legs had something to do. Now he just needed to get to it and after that out of the camp unnoticed.

The guard sat eventually down under one of the olive trees, and Anthony watched his silhouette carefully. The man didn't fall asleep, but his shoulders sagged a bit after a while, and Anthony took that as his cue to push his blanket away slowly, not trying to make a sound while he got to his feet.

Either he didn't succeed or the man's ears where better than any dog's because he instantly turned his head and stared at Anthony, raising his rifle and aiming at him. Anthony raised his own hands, heart pounding hard in his chest while he tried to look inconspicuous. 

_God, please, no, just..._

He made a gesture as if he had just been on his way to relieve himself, and the guard grimaced and nodded at him, sitting back down and ignoring him for the time being.

DiNozzo turned and vanished between the olive trees. After a few steps, when he was sure the guard could no longer see him, he turned towards the grove where the mules had been tied up for the night.

His mind was already racing ahead and losing the answer to "what now?" constantly. His pulse was a loud, thudding distraction in his ears as he pushed through the undergrowth, trying not to trip over things he couldn't see in the dark. He didn't have much time now because the Berber guard could come looking for him any minute now, but he had to try anyway. There wouldn't be any better chances.

The sound of flowing water to his right guided him, and after a few more steps, he stumbled out into the clearing where the mules had been tied in such a way that they could reach the small stream easily. The olive trees were more lush, less crippled-looking here, and that might work in his favor. Maybe he could just hide a bit further upstream when the hunt was on and hope that they would expect him to cover as much ground as possible. They didn't have dogs with them, so maybe, if he could keep his mule quiet... Anthony stumbled on, frantically searching for the white one he had picked out earlier. 

Movement to the right caught his eye, and when he turned, he found Ziva looking at him from the river bank. He froze, watching her fall still just like him and mirror his surprise. The headdress she had just taken off made a last jingling sound in her hand, and for a few endless moments he just stared at her and the unexpected, glorious mass of dark curls that fell freely over her shoulders now. The sight of her lips, slightly parted in surprise, tugged at some urge he didn't quite understand, and before either of them had gotten over the shock of running into each other like that, he had already moved towards her. 

_Oh God, DiNozzo, don't do this, that's just stupid, that's not... no... get going!_ He told his mind to shut up, that he couldn't just let her stand there and watch him ride off because clearly she wouldn't do that.

And as his hand grabbed her arm to pull her closer to him, his feet missed the next step and slipped in the moist grass, and his momentum carried them both to the ground. She made a soft sound, and her hands came up against his sides out of reflex while they fell, trying to keep his weight from crushing her, and that was when he realized how slender she really was, almost thin, if not for the decidedly female curves pressing into him now. She groaned and took a deep breath, but his hand came up to cover her mouth, and that made her freeze instantly.

He felt his own heart beat loudly, his pulse screaming in his ears while hers thumped rapidly against his chest, and that was it then, he had no chance of getting out of here now, because in all fairness, he wasn't one to knock a woman unconscious, and he sure as hell couldn't take her with him, and-- 

_Soft._ He found that his other hand, half trapped underneath her shoulder, was also tangled in her hair. Soft curls, damp from the grass now, but almost silky against his skin, and the sensation distracted him. Her eyes, though wide enough to show silver flecks of moonlight reflected in them as she stared up at him, weren't anxious, just filled with a mild curiosity while she tried to settle more comfortably underneath him. That movement shifted their bodies and made his thigh slide between hers, and her eyes widened a bit more while his own breath caught in his throat. 

He hadn't intended that, hadn't meant this mere stumble to turn into something as intimate as it was now, but yet again, he found himself unable to draw back. Her hand at his side tightened against his muscles, and it didn't feel like she wanted to push him away. And while they were both still trying to catch their breath after the fall and the sudden closeness, he felt himself leaning towards her without consciously doing so.

_No, Anthony, no... you... get a grip! This is madness!_

Her breath was warm and utterly relaxed against his skin now, not in the least bit disturbed. Her eyes just watched him cautiously, waiting for what he would do next, and for half a heartbeat he wondered how she would react if he were to kiss her. And part of him wanted to try it out.

Then the moment passed, and he drew in a shuddering breath.

"Listen, I'm sorry," he whispered, and he frowned at his own need to explain himself to her, even when she wouldn't understand a word of it. "I really am, but I need to get back to my people, and..."

He froze when he felt the tip of a dagger, pressing hard against his ribs through the cloth of his _djellaba_ while Ziva's face changed from the calm mask she had shown him so far. He watched her eyes narrow and her brows draw together in such an expressive frown that he had a hunch about how furious she actually was.

Slowly, he raised his hand from her mouth, gasping when she pressed the dagger harder into his side, signaling him to roll off her. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees carefully while holding her gaze, then sat back, staying on his knees. Running was certainly out of the question now.

He watched her get up, staring at him warily, her hands almost shaking with anger now. Then she moved to his side, the blade against his neck urging him to his feet, and he groaned.

_I have to hand it to you, DiNozzo, that was spectacularly stupid. Even more stupid than getting caught in the first place. And I thought that one was hard to beat._

"I'm sorry," he repeated weakly, and she made an angry sound deep in her throat that sounded like a growl.

"You have no idea how sorry you will be," she ground out through gritted teeth, and he flinched, his head whipping around to stare at her in shock.

For some reason, the almost perfect English coming out of her mouth stung sharper than her dagger.

*** *** ***

She certainly did her best to make him regret the bad choices he had made so far.

He spent the rest of the night on his knees, with his wrists tied behind his back and then doubly secured to the rope that bound his ankles. His joints started aching after just a few minutes, and he tried to loosen the rope enough so he could get at least a little more comfortable, but Ziva tied a mean knot and there was no chance of getting out of this one. Even falling to the side to relieve some of the stress on his muscles, however disgraceful it may have looked, was not an option - the guard she had roused to keep an eye on him specifically saw to that.

At one point, when he felt like his eyes were watering from the pressure on his shoulders, Tali came to him, staring at him for long moments with narrowed eyes. Then she suddenly kicked him hard in the ribs and stomped off again, and while he still gasped and fought to get the breath back she had driven out of his lungs, he realized that she had more power packed in that tiny frame than he would have given her credit for. 

He wasn't sure why exactly she had hurt him - in general, yes, but if it was for the attempt at escape or rather because he had dared to touch Ziva, that remained a mystery.

His awkward position only allowed for a few moments of nodding off. Real sleep was elusive, and so he had a lot of time to think about what exactly had gone wrong and how he could have changed the events of the night to his benefit.

Maybe it would have worked out better if he had shown more patience and just waited another hour. Maybe the guard _would_ have fallen asleep eventually. Certainly Ziva would have had finished her late-night bath or whatever she had been up to by then.

Maybe he should have just hidden upstream alone, with just a few provisions and not bothering to try and steal a mule. They weren't that far from the city yet, he _could_ have managed on foot, even though it would have been a pain.

And maybe, just maybe he should have tried to seduce her. She had only turned vengeful when he had started babbling about escape, after all.

Anthony sighed and closed his eyes, further punishing his short-sightedness with musings about how that might have turned out.

*** *** ***

It was interesting to see how one stupid action had cost him a lot of privileges he hadn't even realized he'd had so far.

His whole body ached by the time his ties were cut the next morning, and he groaned and fell to his hands and knees, shaking with tension. It took a lot of very small movements and rubbing his wrists to get the blood flowing in his arms again, and he was far from ready to stand when the guard already shoved the butt of his rifle into Anthony's back, urging him to get going.

Breakfast was a sparse thing, at least on his end, because while he wasn't looking his rations turned into stale water and flat, white bread that would have been almost tasteless if not for the slightly salty tang to it.

The worst part, though, turned out to be losing the comfort of riding. The mules hadn't seemed to move at a particularly rapid pace while he had been sitting on top of one. Jogging along behind Ziva's mule though, with his hands tied in front of him and a long leash secured to her saddle, taught him that they were certainly much more nimble on their feet than the average American male.

*** *** ***

His part in setting up the tent for the women that night was hard work, and Anthony found himself wincing a few times whenever his back protested against a certain twist or his thighs ached so much that bending over was distractingly painful. By the time they were done, he was ready to just fall to the ground and curl up into a whimpering ball.

The heavy hand of a guard held him back when he tried to head towards the campfire, though. Anthony stared at the man curiously, but the tall guard just jerked his head towards the tent and motioned for him to get inside.

In the tent, another man unrolled a carpet that served as a makeshift floor, then spread pillows on it and put up colored shawls in oranges, purples and dark reds to hide the raw cloth of the tent. When he was done, he turned towards Anthony and gestured that he was supposed to sit down in one corner, preferably on his knees again.

His jaw tightened, but he obeyed and sat down, waiting.

*** *** ***

He had a feeling that they were making him wait just to punish him that tiny bit more. And in his weaker moments, he had to admit that it worked quite well.

His stomach rumbled rudely by now, and he closed his eyes, trying not to think about the hunger pangs and failing. 

_Adapt, DiNozzo. You can do it._

A while after sunset the flap that covered the tent's entrance moved, and Ziva joined him, her face as calm on the surface as if she had just shared a pipe of _kif_. Which meant most likely that she was still mad as hell. Still, she handed him a bowl of couscous and some fresh bread, and for that alone he could have kissed her feet for hours if she had wanted him to, no questions asked.

She turned and went to the other side of the tent, which was probably for the better because even Anthony had to admit that his eating habits lacked a bit of modesty after what she had put him through today. He cleaned out the bowl faster than he took a breath on most days and even licked his fingers clean when he was done.

"Thank you," he said eventually, something that was close to bliss ringing in his voice.

He turned his head to find her watching him quietly, and it came as a tiny shock to him that he hadn't even noticed her getting undressed - not completely, but she had taken off her ornate headscarf and most layers of her clothing so that she was only dressed in a thin undergarment that came down to just above her ankles and left her arms bare.

"You will sleep here," she announced, and for some reason he had to swallow around a lump in his throat that hadn't been there a minute earlier. It must have shown on his face because her eyebrow arched up high in response.

"What is on your mind right now is not a privilege you have earned yet," she clarified, her eyes narrowing while she scrutinized him. "And given your actions, I doubt you ever will."

"Quite alright, ma'am," he pressed out, breathing slowly and feeling the muscles in his neck jump while he tried to keep his jaw from clenching. Had he always been this easy to read? Or was it just with her? "Sleep it is."

She nodded, then turned once more to rummage around in a bag that was sitting in a corner. Her dark, almost black curls, flowing down her back until they almost reached her waist, were in stark contrast to the creamy white cloth she wore. Her bare arms were slim but intriguingly well-shaped, and they made the urge rise in him to touch that caramel skin, run his fingers over her arms and explore the unexpected map of light scars that caught his eye even in the dim light of a single lantern. He valued his hands, though, so he decided to sit back and just watch her.

It didn't take long until she came back to him, and he frowned when she bent down and he realized what she was carrying.

"Your hands," she ordered, and he obeyed angrily and watched her bind his wrists once more with one end of a long piece of rope she had unearthed, then securing the other end to her belt. 

She checked the knots, then nodded and stretched out on the carpet beside him. Her free hand slipped behind her back, and she produced the thin, curved dagger that he had encountered before. 

"I have a very light sleep with everyone except Talia," she told him with a pointed glance while she tucked the blade under her pillow. Then she settled down, pulled a blanket up to her waist and closed her eyes, dismissing him once again. Just like that.

He stared at her for a few moments longer, torn between anger, frustration and the suddenly overwhelming pull of exhaustion. In the end, his tiredness won by a narrow margin, and he reached for one of the pillows and slid down until he could stretch out on the carpet beside her.

The flap of the tent moved, and he blinked, staring at Tali who had slipped inside and now undressed hurriedly until she wore little more than her companion. He was slightly surprised to see her unwrap a body that was curvier than Ziva's was, maybe because he'd had the impression of a scrawny street kid from her so far. She was far from a kid though, and her gown even stretched slightly over well-formed breasts.

She glared at him when she caught the direction of his stare, and he shrugged, hunting around for a blanket of his own and then settling down on his pillow. He watched her brush her hair that was a lot lighter than Ziva's, almost a dark blonde, and it occurred to him that he had no idea what color her eyes were. 

Eventually, she slipped behind Ziva and under the blanket with her, snuggling up to her and wrapping her arm around the older one's waist in a way that was so intimate that it made Anthony's mind go astray for a moment. His pulse sped up while he watched her bury her face into Ziva's neck because he suddenly remembered sweet feisty Irina, a rather voluptuous actress that he'd had an insane crush on during his teenage years.

She'd been a foxy little thing, a real firecracker as long as she was on stage, and she'd never been shy about accepting tokens of affection from her male admirers. Young Anthony, though, had found that his attempts at flirtation got him nowhere, and even though Irina had always been friendly with him, she had often dismissed him in an unruffled way very similar to what Ziva did to him. 

One night, he had snuck backstage to pursue her once more, and he had caught her kissing one of the other girls of the show - not the way cousins or sisters kissed, with just a quick peck of affection, but in a rather heated way, with her hand buried deep into the other girl's hair and Irina's mouth on hers as if she were starving for her taste.

The other dancer had been quite shocked when she'd seen the young man gawk openmouthed, and she'd burst into tears of what he later learned to be shame. Irina, though, had just given him an affectionate smile, that same winning sparkle that was her stage face, and then she'd held out her hand to him. And Anthony, still dumbfounded and mildly aroused by what he had just witnessed, had taken it and followed her to her dressing room.

He'd watched her take off the fake lashes and wipe the stage makeup off her face, and he had been surprised to see that underneath it all, she was prettier and a lot younger than he had thought her to be, with just a few years his senior. Then she had asked him to help her unlace her corset, and while he did that, she explained to him in great detail why exactly she preferred the touch of women. How they were so much sweeter, and softer, and so much more rewarding once they had opened up to being loved.

Anthony had listened to her voice, slightly rough whenever she was lost in thought, and he found that everything she said made so much sense to his teenage mind that he actually began to wonder why there were even women around who wanted to bed men.

He had foolishly asked his father about that later, and the old man had slapped his face hard for that, ordering him to never talk about such ungodly actions again in his house. And Anthony had obeyed, of course, even though he had never quite understood what was so wrong about women sharing the same tastes he had developed himself.

He watched the girls quietly while his mind kept drifting in an out of memories. Tali seemed to fall asleep easily, snoring into Ziva's neck soon, but for some reason Anthony felt unable to close his own eyes, thinking of sweet Irina and wondering about Ziva. He stared at her face, so slack and relaxed now, framed by a mass of dark curls. Watched her hand covering Talia's and her fingers curling to mingle with the younger one's. Watched her take a deep breath because staring at her like that had obviously been enough to disturb her rest.

"Sleep, _ikzin_ ," she murmured without opening her eyes. "Tomorrow will be long."

He blinked, staring at her mouth for a moment. His fingers itched to touch her lips, but in the end he just closed his eyes.

*** *** ***

His theory was that allowing him to shave was actually a more devious thing than all of the previous day's punishment had been. How clever of them to remind him what they may grant him easily if he was a good boy and cooperated.

He relished the almost forgotten feeling of soapy foam on his skin, and so he took his time and made sure that he caught every hint of beard. The guard, who had been watching him carefully the whole time, took away the shaving knife as soon as he was finished, of course, but Anthony felt too relaxed to even attempt a sarcastic remark. He just wiped his hands on a piece of cloth and used it to get the last bits of soap from his face and neck. Now all he needed was a good, long bath, but he doubted that Ziva was inclined to let that happen any time soon.

He was pointed to one of the mules then, and he didn't even mind that he had to pack its load first. His whole body still hurt from the exertion of the previous day, and he vowed to himself to keep the stupid plans to a minimum from now on. He would get his chance eventually. He'd just have to be more careful this time.

The skin at the back of his neck prickled, and when he turned around at the sensation, he saw Ziva, staring at him while she prepared her own mule. He raised a hand to run it over his now smooth cheek, then gave her his most radiant smile.

She didn't react of course, just kept staring at him. For some reason, though, he was sure that she liked what she saw.

*** *** ***

This day's ride took them from the path that had led them almost directly south into the mountains to a route towards the southeastern foothills. The landscape had impossibly gotten even greener and more fertile during their travel, and it amazed Anthony to find rows and rows of juicy grass when the sun was still beating down so hard on his back that he was almost sure that they'd find the desert he had expected after all, they'd just have to round one more corner.

Patches of lavender interspersed the grass now, and while he stared at them in something close to wonder, he noticed a row of small houses, huddling into the hillside. He urged his mule closer to Tali's, glancing at her sideways.

"Hey," he said. "Is that your home we're heading to?"

She stiffened visibly in the saddle and picked at her fingernails, pretending that she hadn't heard him, and he sighed and kicked his mule, which had shown the urge to wander off on a whim the whole day because it apparently found lavender very tasty.

"Listen. I'm sorry, Tali, really. It was stupid to try and run off like that."

She snorted as if to say _'Oh, really?'_ , but kept staring ahead at the path they were following, barely more than a track in the landscape where the grass grew a bit more sparsely than elsewhere.

"Hey, I would ask any of the others if they would understand me, but..." 

He watched her back stiffen even more, and that had been the wrong approach again, it seemed. For some reason, he suddenly felt like another privilege had been taken from him, and he certainly hadn't known about that one before. He also hadn't realized that it was something he would actually miss.

"I am sorry," he said, quietly, and this time he actually meant it. "And I swear I wasn't trying to hurt her, I would never--"

"You would never manage _that_ ," she spat, turning around in her saddle and glaring at him angrily. "She is too good a fighter to let that happen!"

"Yeah. I noticed," he said, and his words sounded tense even though they were the truth. Or maybe because they were the truth.

For a moment, he remembered how Ziva had relaxed underneath him at first, had waited for what he would do next. She had been ready to take control the whole time, had just left the first move to him. And he realized that maybe they could have both gotten a really good game out of this, but - true to his habits since coming to this country - he had handed her the check and mate willingly with just one single idiocy.

He pulled himself out of the thought and found Tali's gaze still fixed on his face. She sported a curious little frown now, as if she had seen something in his expression that confused her... or surprised her, rather. 

"It is not our home," she said, and Anthony blinked, not sure what to make of her sudden swing in mood. "But it is family."

"Ah," he nodded. He had no idea what she meant by that, but he took the small concession and left it at that. He had no intention of ruining another round of the game by opening his mouth too far when it wasn't necessary.

*** *** ***

The houses showed a weird tendency of refusing to come closer, somehow. He kept waiting for more to see, but for a long while all he really could make out of them was a group of reed-covered roofs in a gently swaying sea of lavender and grass. Once, Anthony turned his head and saw two curious and slightly dirty faces, ducking into the undergrowth ahead of them. The grass around them started moving soon after that, and he suspected that the children were about to announce their arrival.

And then, all of a sudden, it was like their caravan had turned around a corner, and there the village was, like it had popped just out of the ground before them.

It was a small settling, in truth hardly worthy to be called a village, but the few houses were in good shape, mostly built out of adobe bricks and painted in browns, oranges and whites. Just like Anthony had suspected, there were already a handful of men and women waiting for them to arrive, the latter wearing elaborate headdresses just like Ziva's and multilayered clothes that had the same patterns stitched into their hems, only in more subdued colors. The men were dressed more simple, most of them wearing only striped _djellabas_ and embroidered slippers. The few female faces that weren't hidden behind a veil showed tattoos similar to Tali's, and that made Ziva's distinct lack of them all the more obvious.

He watched her get off her mule, but none of the others showed any sign of following that lead, so Anthony leaned back, and while he waited for further instructions, he busied himself with watching Ziva.

She seemed carefully detached when she acknowledged the women, taking great care in just touching their hands and foreheads in what seemed like a very formal greeting. Then one of them shook her head and drew her into a tight embrace, and it was strange to see how uncomfortable Ziva was all of a sudden. Reluctantly, she put her own arms around the woman who seemed to be about her age, and that was a sign for the others to come over, touch her, too, and pat her back. Soon they were chatting around Ziva excitedly until Anthony could feel her growing discomfort in an almost physical way.

The children that had heralded their arrival came running over now, two girls and a boy, all of them with dirt stains on their faces and, strangely, lavender stems tucked behind their ears or into their shirts. They shoved through the noisy women, and when the smallest girl suddenly clung to Ziva's hip, Anthony watched with utter fascination how the uncomfortable tension that had tightened her posture up to that point left her and she relaxed, just like that.

She bent down and hugged the child, then took her face into her hands to get a good look at her, and even while she did that, she interrupted herself and kissed the girl's cheeks, left and right, a few times. The other kids got the same treatment, and the women laughed at their discomfort over the affections, at the way they scrunched up their little faces because Ziva insisted on ruffling their hair and rubbing their cheeks.

_So that's the Ziva who loves._

He watched her, mesmerized by the affection melting her stern face into something soft and compassionate. It was unexpected, and for some reason it tugged at something deep inside him that made him look at her in a much softer way, too.

Movement beside him dragged his attention away, and he turned his head to see Tali climb off her mule. She watched Ziva, too, and her face was as smiling and relaxed as her companion's when she looked at him. Light brown eyes with flecks of green swirling in them.

"Are they hers?" he asked, jerking his chin towards the kids.

Tali laughed while handing over the reins to one of the guards. "No. She just cares for them and their mother since our brother went missing," she replied.

It was a simple sentence, but it was enough to make Anthony's mind stumble over it. And when he got it, his mouth fell open and his previous misconceptions made him stare at Tali with widening eyes.

"Your bro--" He blinked, lost his train of thought and began again. "She's your _sister?_ "

"Of course she is," she said, glancing at him curiously. "What did you think?"

He didn't answer, but his expression must have given something away because she suddenly started laughing so hard that she even drew the villagers' attention. Still snorting loudly with amusement, she went over to their group to finally greet her family, too, and once again Anthony was left to his own thoughts and feeling like an idiot.

*** *** ***

They held their midday break in the small settling, and while food and fresh water were handed out, Anthony tried to assess his situation and come up with a new plan. He wasn't sure though if it was just the good food or the still lingering exhaustion - or both - that made his mind run in endless circles. He just couldn't come up with anything worthwhile, and every few minutes, he found his concentration dwindling, and his eyes and thoughts kept drifting back to Ziva instead.

Tali joined him while he was once again busy with watching her sister from afar, and she sat down opposite him and gave him a smug little half-smile that made him frown before she even said a word.

"So," she said, glancing at him in a weirdly intrusive way, "you really thought that Ziva licks my flower."

He choked on the water he had been drinking, and it took him quite a while to get the coughing under control.

"I did not," he finally lied and glared at her, still coughing.

Tali's grin widened, and she leaned closer, dropping her voice to a suggestive tone. "Did it make you jealous?"

Anthony's eyes narrowed at her obvious glee. "It's not my place to be jealous," he replied, sarcasm dripping heavily from his words, but that only amused Talia even more.

"Look! It can be taught after all!" she said with laughter bubbling up inside her, and he ground his teeth, throwing a date at her. She caught it out of the air and popped it into her mouth, and even while he was angry he had to admit that her reflexes were impressive.

And just like that, he realized, she was back to liking him. He leaned back, returning her grin comfortably and feeling strangely satisfied. "How long are we going to stay here?" he asked, and Tali shrugged.

"Not much longer, I think. She just wanted to give Hafi the two slaves she bought her."

"Hafi?"

"Our brother's wife. She needs the extra pairs of hands, but she could not afford them, so Ziva bought her two men to help her with the sheep."

Her voice trailed off, and now she was the one watching her sister, who was sitting on the other side of the yard in the shade of a fig palm and talking to the woman called Hafi. Tali's face softened a little, and for a moment she was deeply lost in her own thoughts.

"That's quite a gift," Anthony said, and Tali nodded absentmindedly.

"Sometimes, Ziva is like that," she sighed, and for some reason he was sure that they'd had arguments about that. "I think she still blames herself for Ari going away. They argued just before he went into the mountains."

"Ari is your brother?"

"Yes." She saw the question in his eyes and shrugged. "It is not uncommon for Rifi men to leave their women, to do business while the wives tend their home and care for the livestock. We are used to being left to our own devices for months, sometimes a year or longer. But Ari..." She took a deep breath. "Ari has been gone for three summers now. I doubt that he will come back. But Hafi is stubborn, and she will not take another husband even though it has been so long."

Anthony nodded absentmindedly, watching Ziva talk to her sister-in-law. Now that the kids had run off, she seemed very tense again; her fingers were twitching nervously, and her back was stiff in a way that made him feel uncomfortable even from afar.

"Maybe he fell into the hands of bandits," he said, and while Tali gave a snort of disdain, he had to admit to himself that he was rambling mostly to change the topic. Her reaction, though, made him curious, and he turned his head to look at her. "Hey, I just heard stories. And you can't blame me for wondering if we'll meet the brigands my people told me about."

"'Meet them'?" she asked incredulously. Then she chuckled and settled more comfortably against the pack saddle. "You have been in their company all along."

"You're... bandits?"

"We're Rifi," she clarified. "That alone means bandit to most of your people, even though only a handful of us truly are." She shrugged. "We are a wild people, though, and the Rif is dangerous for everyone who does not understand our customs. It is quite easy to find an untimely death in these lands, yes."

He felt his glance drifting back to her sister across the yard. "And Ziva is one of the Rif's dangers, I suppose?"

"Ziva... has a certain reputation," Tali smiled, and he grinned at the careful phrasing. "But she also has a good standing among the tribes. They would lose good trading if they were to harm her."

Anthony let that sink in while he was still watching Ziva. He had trouble merging the image Tali's words evoked, the one of a Ziva who had tied him up like she did such things regularly, with the one of a woman who was awkward and tense while another woman merely leaned forward and touched her hand. There was certainly more to that girl than he had seen so far.

"So," he said eventually, and it slipped out before he even realized what his silly tongue was up to. "Does Ziva have a husband?"

Tali grinned at him smugly. "Not jealous, huh?"

He glared at her but decided to keep his mouth shut. It was enough to put one foot per day inside.

*** *** ***

They drove the mules hard for the rest of the day to make up for the lost time, so even Anthony did not find a lot of opportunities to let his mind wander after that. And that was probably for the best.

It was bad enough that he found his thoughts drifting uncontrollably whenever he happened to so much as glance at Ziva. It left him wondering if she really was as infamous as Tali had hinted at. It also, to his own embarrassment, left him still wondering if she did have a husband somewhere in these mountains, because Tali had never answered that question.

It came as a surprise when they went over one hill and suddenly found their final destination in the valley hidden behind it - a cluster of sturdily built stone houses, their walls whitewashed like the ones in Tetouan had been, with shingled roofs that looked like they would hold up well during the periods of heavy rain, which Tali had assured him were quite common during summer in the Rif.

He found that he wasn't the only one who had slowed down out of reflex, and he shot a quick glance at Ziva again. He should have been irritated about the lack of control she seemed to regularly bring out in him, about the silly urge he had to keep looking at her, but when he saw her face, he couldn't bring himself to mind. Because for the first time since he had met her, she wore neither her eerie mask of calmness that couldn't be disturbed by a mountain dropping on her nor the one of haughty arrogance that made his blood boil so easily. 

No, she just looked down at her home, at the mass of green surrounding it, moved by a gentle wind, at the two tiny people stopping in the yard between the houses and staring at them now, waving. While he looked at her, he saw her expression soften even more, and some tension Anthony hadn't even realized was there seemed to flow out of her, little by little. And eventually, she breathed in deeply, and she looked... peaceful.

*** *** ***

Unloading the mules and feeding them was fast and above all quiet work. It seemed that everyone else was just as tired as Anthony was - and just as willing to simply fall over and go to sleep. They were sent to clean up after that, and that sounded like so much of a blessing after three days' worth of travel that he decided to keep upright for just a little while longer.

They were offered a real bath and a massage in the _hammam_ , but Anthony was among those who didn't have the energy left for that, so he just cleaned himself quickly until most of the travel's dusty grime was rinsed off his body. He was about to try and find out if he could indeed just roll up somewhere for a nap when he saw Tali, waiting for him outside the _hammam_.

"Come with me, my pet," she said, and even his easy to rouse annoyance at being treated that way had calmed down to a dull pretense of its former self. He was just too tired to get riled up right now.

He stopped in surprise when she led him to a room that was very different from the clean, open lines of the rest of the house. The white and yellow walls were here decorated by wall hangings and shawls in bright oranges, purples and dark reds. Several lanterns had been lit, and pillows were placed in abundance on the thick carpets instead of furniture.

Ziva was waiting for them, and that was what made him wary because she was not snuggled into the pillows, but on her knees in the middle of the room and preparing what seemed to be green tea, judging by the scent that tickled his nose.

"Sit," Tali ordered while she grabbed some pillows and sprawled across them to Ziva's right, then she pointed at the floor in front of the tray Ziva was working on.

Anthony obeyed slowly. For a moment he was tempted to mirror Tali's relaxed pose of reclining into the pillows, but then he decided against it and just tucked his feet under his legs. 

Ziva's fingers handled the silver teapot delicately, like it was a living thing, and it seemed to him that this wasn't just because the contents were hot. He watched her curiously while she carefully put a bundle of fresh mint leaves and big clumps of brown sugar into the pot and set the lid back onto it.

"There is a saying among my people," she said, and he jumped at the sudden sound of her voice, his eyes flicking to her face.

She kept her eyes lowered, though, concentrating on setting out glasses that were lined with brass decorations, not meeting his gaze. She took one of the glasses, poured some of the tea into it in a wide, flowing gesture, then set the pot down and poured the liquid back into it.

Ziva didn't react any further to his presence, just busied herself with pouring the tea into each of the three glasses before her repeatedly and then back into the pot. He had to admit that her technique was admirable - the pot was held very high while she poured the golden, steaming liquid, and she didn't spill a single drop. The height from which it was poured made it foam, and that looked weird to his American eyes, but he didn't want to interrupt her and ask about it. Tea in general looked weird to American eyes, after all.

"Sharing tea is one of the most important things in our world," Tali said softly beside him, and her voice sounded dreamy, lost in thought. He watched in fascination how that soft tone of voice made a smile rise on Ziva's face while she finally filled the glasses for consumption. "Every guest needs to be served and served well. Three glasses during any chat or negotiation is customary and what tradition demands, and to refuse the offer is the most rude thing one could possibly do."

Ziva, who had finished pouring the tea now, put the teapot down and sat back, carefully folding back the sleeves of her dress until her hands and wrists were bare except for the multitude of bangles and the thick silver rings on her thumbs.

"It is said that the first glass of tea is as bitter as life," she said quietly, finally raising her eyes to look at him directly, and something in her gaze made him hold his breath. "That the second is as strong as love, and the third as gentle as death."

How could he have forgotten already how intense her eyes were? Just last night she had looked at him, and... and it hadn't been like that. Not at all.

"Would you like a glass of tea?" she asked him softly, and he nodded silently, his mouth dry while he watched Ziva's slender hands reach for one of the glasses. 

It was only half-filled, and when he took it from her he discovered that this made handling them easier because the upper half of the glass was warm, but not hot. He was tempted to let his fingers brush against hers, and his heartbeat picked up speed when he thought about it and then quenched the urge.

"Thank you," he said.

" _Sukran_ ," Tali corrected him gently, and for some reason he felt obliged to play along and repeat the word.

" _Ba jamil_ ," Ziva replied, tilting her head with a smile, then handing the second glass to Tali, and he guessed that meant something like _You're welcome_.

The strong minty scent of the tea wafted up to his nose, and he inhaled it while he watched Ziva take the last glass herself and finally settle back into the pillows behind her back, stretching out her pretty feet. She wore no sandals now, so he could see how delicate the artwork of the henna paintings really was. Which made it hard not to stare. Which, in turn, made it even harder not to wonder where they ended on her body. 

He cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea to hide the sudden detour his mind had taken. Taste exploded on his tongue - the sharp, bitter sting of strong green tea, mixed with mint and the almost painful sweetness of sugar. He coughed, suddenly understanding why he'd heard someone call tea the "whisky of Morocco". It certainly took as much getting used to.

The second sip already made it more bearable, though. By the third, it didn't taste all that bad to him, and he found himself thinking that maybe he could get used to this in times when no coffee was to be had.

Movement at his side distracted him again, and he watched Tali scoot over to Ziva and cuddle up beside her on the pillows, stretching out her own legs until her toes almost touched Anthony's thigh. He blinked, staring at the women, at the way Ziva leaned back now and put her arm around Tali's shoulder to pull the younger one with her, and for just a moment, something went astray in his mind again.

Then Ziva chuckled, and they started chitchatting in their own language. He was pretty sure that they were talking about him, even though he didn't understand a word of it.

"Forgive me if this is rude, but why am I here?" he found himself saying, not willing to be the butt of the joke.

Tali frowned at him, and yes, it seemed like he had been rude indeed. Ziva, though, just chuckled and stroked her sister's back.

"To discuss what will become of you," she said, and that made him stare at her in confusion.

"I have a say in this?"

"In a way," she replied, tilting her head. "You have the choice between two paths, even though I am sure already which one will be the more appealing for you. So, in truth you are here so I can give you a better understanding about what will be expected of you."

Carefully, Anthony sat down the glass. "Does the goat care what use the butcher has planned for its hide?" he bit out sarcastically, and he expected her to be offended, but to his surprise, she just leaned forward and watched him intently, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"The goat should care if it breaks its back carrying corn to the mill or if it just lolls around in the grass until it grows fat and old," she said, very softly, and he stared at her with his eyes narrowing.

Eventually, he nodded, suggesting that he was willing to listen, and she repeated the gesture, leaning back into the pillows.

"In these lands, there are two ways a slave can be valuable. One is obvious - the strength of his arms, the talents he has, the amount of work he can do. The other is... well, for the lighter side of life," she said, chuckling, and when he just frowned at her, feeling slightly dumbfounded, she suddenly grinned at him broadly. "Pleasure, _ikzin_. I am sure you have heard of that, yes?"

He blinked slowly, understanding but not comprehending. "What exactly does that mean?"

Ziva shrugged elegantly. "There is hard work to be done in these parts of the land, if that is your desire. There are always houses to be built and fields to be plowed, and if you want to do this, I will not stand in your way," she said, carefully keeping her expression blank. " _Or_ \- we train you in serving the richer of my customers. Train you in the traditions of our land and the ways of our people, so you will be able to be a good pet and return to your new owner the worth of his or her investment tenfold." 

She saw the shift in his expression and laughed out loud. "Her, if that is so much of a concern for you," she added.

Anthony stared at her, and she held his gaze as if she didn't mind either way. And just like it had before, her attitude made his hackles rise, and he had the sudden urge to yell at her, to grab her and shake her until she came to her senses, and then he would... He blinked, taking a deep breath. 

_Don't go there._

He emptied his glass and rolled the options she had given him around in his head. And while he watched her carefully, he noticed that she was, in turn, watching him. Trying to judge him. 

Carefully, he set his glass down. Letting her think that he was willing to play the pleasure slave would definitely give him a better chance at escape. And maybe he could pick up some language skills or other things helpful in the meantime. 

_Adapt, DiNozzo. You're supposed to be good at that, remember? You can play that game, too._

So he smiled at her, the open, willing and more than interested smile that he usually gave the women whom he wanted to engage into something naughty. The smile that told them that they were special and that his whole attention was now theirs alone.

It didn't have quite the effect he had been going for - Tali just rolled her eyes at him and Ziva actually chuckled. But it was all right if they thought him a harmless peacock for now. He would certainly find out over time what tickled her just the right way. And finding that out was, in a lot of cases, the most fun about the whole game, after all.

"Would you like another glass of tea?" she asked him then, and he couldn't help notice that her eyes were busy on what she could see of his body. Judging what could be made out of her investment, no doubt.

_Oh, you won't sell me. I'll make sure of that._

He smiled and handed her his glass so she could refill it.

"That's the one that is like love, right?" he asked, and when her eyes met his in pleased surprise, he let his fingertips brush hers.

*** *** ***


	3. Chapter Two

The dream had followed her home, just like it did every time. And like every time, Ziva had hoped that she had maybe lost it somewhere on the trade. Like an old scarf that was suddenly gone and only after months of not finding it again, you'd wonder when exactly you had misplaced it.

She had no idea what it was that she dreamed about, even though she was sure that it was always the same thing that came to haunt her. And it always left her drenched in cold sweat and sometimes shaking. Often she woke so tense that her whole body hurt from it.

It was strange that she never had the dream when they were on the trade. Tali liked to believe that it was because they slept together then, because she could guard her sister's sleep, so she often spent another night or two in Ziva's bedroom even after they had returned home.

Talia's hand on her shoulder was what had pulled her out of the dream now, too, and Ziva sighed, staring at the whitewashed ceiling. It would have been nice if Tali's theory had proven right, just this once. She was tired of waking up tense and restless. She was tired of having to will her body to relax each morning.

"The same one?" Tali asked quietly.

Ziva felt her jaw clench for a heartbeat. She nodded, and Tali sighed, too, then slid her hand under the blanket, rubbing slow circles on Ziva's belly as if to draw the coiled up tension out of there.

It did not help all that much because whatever haunted her at night still had its claws in her mind, but it did make a smile spread on Ziva's face. She put her arm around Tali's shoulder, drawing her sister closer and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I don't deserve you," she murmured, and Tali laughed and snuggled into the embrace.

"No, you deserve far worse," she snickered, and Ziva pinched her for that, making her sibling squirm with laughter.

Eventually, she felt her own breathing calm down, and she stretched out between the pillows languidly. "What else have you planned to cheer me up today, little sister?"

"We could go and annoy the new one," Tali suggested, still rubbing Ziva's tummy gently and leaving her with a drowsy, relaxed feeling.

"M'Besa?" she returned with a lazy smile, and this time it was Tali who pinched her side.

"You know full well which one I mean."

Ziva chuckled and raised a hand to brush her sister's hair out of her pretty face. Her thumb touched the tribe's markings, but didn't linger.

"But annoying him is such an easy game," she said, and Tali squirmed because she had to agree on that.

"He should be getting his shave now," Tali threw in, and there was a wistful tone to her voice. "Aren't you curious how he looks underneath all that fur?"

"That's why I ordered him shaven, silly!" Ziva couldn't help the smile that curled her lips as she recalled the argument he had tried to give her about his excessive and useless body hair. He had, in fact, objected so loudly to the mere notion that she had finally lost her patience and presented him with the simple choice of cooperating peacefully or being drugged for the procedure.

He was a strange one, that man, with his easy to rouse temper and the arrogant conviction that this was not a place he deserved to be in. There were moments when he simply left her curious. In his strange ways, he was very different from the men she had known in her life. Infuriating and very childish, oh yes... but also intriguing.

Her smile deepened when she remembered that it wasn't just his temper that was easy to rouse. For a moment she recalled the feeling of him in her hand, so eager and ready for her, and yes, she had to admit that reaction had impressed her. She could have taken him right there in the middle of the _souk_ and he wouldn't have objected.

She felt her skin tingle with the slight excitement the thought brought. He was a fine one indeed, and it was a shame, really, that she couldn't allow him to touch her. He was one of the few who was kept under control much better through lust unfulfilled.

"Mhm," Tali purred beside her and rubbed up to her side like a lazy kitten. "Even with the fur, he looks delicious. I wonder how he tastes."

Ziva turned her head and stared at her sister open-mouthed. "You want to try him out!" she accused her in mock outrage, and Tali tried to slip on her most innocent expression.

"I have not thought about that at all, no." 

As usual, she failed at innocence, and Ziva couldn't help but laugh at her. "Liar!" she snorted, and Tali giggled, but then something distracted her thoughts, and suddenly she was not quite as giddy as before. 

"Would you mind if I did?" she asked eventually, watching Ziva and trying to judge her sister's mood.

Ziva opened her mouth to answer... and then she felt herself hesitate for the tiniest moment. It was tempting to answer as if it didn't matter to her one way or the other, but to her own surprise, she found that, quite unexpectedly, something deep inside her _did_ feel bothered by the thought. A slight shiver tightened her skin, and Ziva forced herself to a noncommittal shrug.

"We already know he is easy to arouse," she said, running her hand down Tali's back. "Now we need to find out if he is as fast in all manners or if he knows what he is doing, yes?"

Her sister grinned broadly, and the anticipation made her eyes sparkle. Ziva was strangely glad that in her excitement she hadn't noticed the fact that her question had not been answered directly.

*** *** ***

The fire in the man's eyes, especially when it was flavored with a hint of anger, was one of the things that had intrigued Ziva when she had first seen him at the _souk_. His eyes had a strange life of their own, showing a piercing light green when he was annoyed and darkening considerably when arousal ran high in him. She had noticed that early on, and in her more unguarded moments Ziva even had to admit that she wasn't sure yet which of these she found more attractive.

There was a lot of that angry fire directed at her when he turned to look at them now, and she heard Tali's breath hitch with excitement at the raw heat, the annoyed frown, the tense set of his pretty mouth. And Ziva couldn't blame her, really, even though she felt a strange pang of discomfort and the briefest moment of regret that she would only be a watcher in this herself.

His eyes narrowed at something he must have seen in her face but he seemed to have his temper under much better control today because he remained silent, only crossed his arms in front of his bare chest defiantly. 

She wasn't sure if he was more upset about the shaving or the fact that her instructions had only allowed him to wear a pair of loose pants afterwards, and she didn't really care. Both facts showed off the body she had paid good money for, and she saw now that he would have actually been worth a lot more. No wonder Mennadim had been so eager to get his hands on him, too. He certainly knew his trade.

The man's chest and arms were developed perfectly - finely muscled, but not by overuse, just a naturally stocky build that would serve very well when carrying someone off to bed. His shoulders and neck were even better, looking almost chiseled while he stood with his arms crossed like that. She imagined running her tongue over that neck while his strong hands grabbed her, directed her movements, and the mere thought sent such a strong wave of pleasure through her that she carefully untangled herself from the fantasy and tucked it away before it became too apparent.

Now that he had been cleaned up, Ziva could see that his skin was lighter than what she was used to in her men, but nicely tanned and almost flawless. Just one small, round scar at his shoulder suggested that he had been in the way of a rifle at least once. The line of his hips, smooth and barely covered by the hem of his pants, was distractingly perfect, and she failed again at keeping her thoughts under control and wondered instead how it would feel to wrap her thighs around him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," Tali sighed beside her, and Ziva nodded quietly while she watched her sister move towards the man with an unmistakable hunger in her eyes.

His gaze flicked back and forth between the women, trying to catch a hint about what was being said, but then he got a good look at Tali's face and what he saw there distracted him briefly from his fuming anger. They watched each other quietly, and at some point, the deep frown on his face smoothed over, and a mixture of curiosity and interest took the place of annoyance. Then Tali raised a hand and beckoned him closer, and he obeyed and followed her over to the pillows spread out in one corner.

He fell into the kiss she offered easily, and that surprised Ziva at first. Then she saw the way the muscles in his neck twitched, and that told her loud and clear that he was merely playing along, to go with what they expected of him. He did not like it one bit, even though his body might.

When Tali began to unfasten his pants, his hands came up, and he touched her cheeks, his fingers weaving into her hair with a strange gentleness. He broke the kiss and drew back, murmuring something to her, and whatever it was, it made Tali hesitate for a heartbeat before she pushed his pants down harshly. Ziva couldn't hear what she said in return to him, but she saw how the man's jaw tensed even harder as he nodded in response, stepped out of his pants and sat down. 

He leaned back into the pillows and stared up at Tali, the frown creeping back onto his face. His posture showed the same splendid arrogance that had caught Ziva's eye at the market, and she found that it had not lost its effect on her. His legs, slightly spread as if he were just waiting for a massage to relax him, matched the build of his chest and arms, well-muscled and stocky. It was rare in males, but this one even had attractive feet - long toes, well-shaped and made for running.

Curiously Ziva let her gaze run higher up his body. He wasn't aroused yet, but his body was clearly reacting to what was about to come, twitching lazily while he watched Tali slip out of her tunic. And Ziva felt the same slight shudder of anticipation while she let her eyes roam over his body.

Oh, he was built well in all ways that counted, indeed, just like her sense of touch had told her before. Heat spread through her at the thought of taking that impressive length into her own hand again, stroking it, slowly, until he would be mad with need...

As if he had felt that thought, his eyes flicked from Tali's face to Ziva's, holding her gaze. And whatever it was that he saw there, it tore through his control and made him harden before her eyes as easily as if she had indeed caressed him. There was fire in his eyes now, not the one born of anger or frustration, but the kind that promised long, hot nights with no restraints and little sleep. Ziva's pulse picked up a faster pace.

He was the first to break the eye contact, forcing his concentration back on Tali, who had by now loosened the straps that fastened her undergown at the shoulders. It fell down and was held just by her belt now, and she moved towards him, naked from the waist up, a cocky sway to her hips. His eyes took in her tight body, the slim line of her waist and the lush breasts, and he clearly liked what he saw.

Ziva watched her sister, still half-dressed, get down on her knees between his thighs, nudging him until he spread them further apart for her, and she wondered what that was about. Tali was not one of those who liked to tease, after all. Usually, she was almost... male in her approach, impatient to the point of sometimes being ready faster than her chosen partner.

He reacted to the closeness of the tempting body, and Ziva couldn't help losing some of the detached feeling she tried to hold on to when Tali leaned over him for another kiss. Her breasts pressed against his stomach, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the feel. His hands came up to frame her face again, and this time he returned the kiss with a clear hunger rising.

Ziva heard Tali's moan when he gave in and his tongue took her mouth, and she longed to taste him, too. Longed to feel his hands on her own face. She crossed her arms, pushing her hands into her long sleeves to hide the minute trembling in her fingers; then she concentrated on breathing deeply.

He gasped when Tali's hands found their way down his chest and stomach, grasping his cock eventually and stroking it slowly, and Ziva saw the shudder that ran through both of them at the touch. He tensed visibly, not too comfortable with his body's treacherous eagerness, but his hips still jerked up to meet Tali's hands willingly, and she took that as an invitation to slide back down his body and settle between his thighs.

He pressed his lips tightly shut when the soft skin of her breasts brushed his cock on the way down, almost as if that was already too much, and Ziva felt the same powerful tension curl up in her own belly at the sight. Her mouth was dry all of a sudden, and she found that she was almost waiting for him to look at her again instead of her sister. She knew he would, eventually.

He turned his head towards her at the same moment Tali took him into her mouth, and the wild heat suddenly flaring in his gaze sent a shudder through Ziva. She could tell that he tried to hold on to her gaze, tried to make this all about her in an almost desperate attempt. But Tali was already done with what she considered teasing and started sucking him so hard now that his head fell back and his teasing mouth went slack, his lips parting in a shocked gasp.

His hands were restless, clenching around Tali's shoulders at first, then digging into her hair, guiding her to the rhythm that was perfect for him, and to Ziva's utter surprise, her sister accepted the gentle steering easily.

"Oh Lord," he pressed out after long minutes of silence, disrupted only by harsh panting and rude, wet sounds, and that was when Tali took him in as deep as she could and swallowed around him.

Ziva saw the fight in him, the way his muscles tensed to hold back his release, but he was too close now, and Tali's hands on his hips, urging him to go with her own harsh rhythm, made him jerk hard underneath her. Ziva leaned forward unconsciously while she watched him reach for it. He was trembling hard now, and his body arched up faster and faster to get more of the hungry mouth on his cock. And suddenly, some selfish part of her wanted him to look at her again. Share this with her.

A hot flush spread over his skin, and he tensed, his head thrown back, a low moan flowing from his lips while Tali's mouth and hands worked him steadily until his shudders subsided. Ziva's pulse was a dull roar in her temples, and her hands inside her sleeves clenched tightly around her own arms, fingernails digging deep into her skin to keep herself from moving.

He looked at Tali when he finally opened his eyes again, and he touched her cheek very gently while he brushed her hair out of her flushed face, a slightly stunned look on his own. For some reason, that look felt all wrong to Ziva.

*** *** ***

He did meet her gaze eventually, and she had no idea what to make of the way he looked at her. The only thing she was sure about was that there was a lot of turmoil running close under the surface again, and she couldn't blame him.

Ziva was still staring at him when Tali had finished putting her clothes back on and came over to her, a slightly smug grin on her face. Carefully, Ziva relaxed the iron grip of her fingers and raised her arm, offering an embrace to Tali. And like she always did, the younger one moved into it easily and gracefully, her own arm winding around her sister's waist.

"What was it he said to you?" Ziva pushed back Tali's unruly hair, tucking it behind her ear, and Tali's mouth curved into a smile against her sister's neck.

"That I'm not the one he wants," she replied, chuckling softly.

It was silly, really, and there was no good reason for it, but suddenly Ziva's pulse was back to a distracting pounding in her temples. "And your answer?"

Tali looked up at her sister with a wistful expression on her face. Her hand came up to stroke Ziva's back slowly. 

"That he will not have you, of course." There was something else in her eyes beside the obvious amusement now, but she didn't seem ready to share yet, and so Ziva didn't ask. 

"So he meets your expectations?" she asked instead, trying for a lighthearted tone of voice.

Tali smiled, and her pink tongue flicked out to moisten her lips in a lewd gesture. "He tastes even better than he looks," she said. "And he is a natural. It's a shame, really. He would bring you a fortune if you were to sell him."

Ziva blinked at the casual statement, and surprise stunned her into momentary silence. "Who says I want to keep him?" she asked when she found her voice again.

Tali laughed and touched her sister's cheek, brushing her thumb gently over her skin. Ziva raised her own hand to cover Tali's and looked at her pointedly until her sister gave her a slight shrug.

"Your eyes," she stated simply. Then she untangled herself from her sister's arms and left Ziva to her thoughts - and to the slave, who was still watching her so intensely that she could almost feel his eyes all over her.

*** *** ***

She knew that there was no reason to linger. And yet, she found her feet moving not out of the door, but over to where he lay instead.

He barely moved when she sat down beside him, so close that her hip almost touched his. He also made no move to cover his body. He just watched her with a tense expression while his breathing slowly returned to a more normal pace. 

His skin was still slightly flushed with the remnants of arousal, and Ziva's fingers itched to trace a path down his chest and find out how he would feel to her touch. To find out how much - or how little - it would take to disturb the arrogance that was still palpable in his posture.

"I think I'll need a moment if you want another performance," he said eventually, and Ziva's eyebrow arched up in amusement.

"Do not flatter yourself," she said, and that brought his annoyed frown back so fast that she almost laughed out loud. She leaned forward until her mouth was close to his ear, her cheek almost brushing his, and she felt the sudden tension in him at the closeness. 

He turned his head slightly, just enough that his mouth almost touched hers, and Ziva saw the way the muscles in his neck tightened while he fought against closing the rest of the distance. 

"I never bed the ones who want it badly," she murmured. His breath was warm on her mouth, and the urge to lick him rose so strongly in her that it took quite an effort to pull back.

He stared at her with a curious expression as if he wasn't sure what to make of her. "Then who quenches your own fire?" he asked, and his fingertips touched the inside of her wrist, almost casually enough to make it look accidental.

Ziva laughed, and the low sound deep in her throat darkened his eyes as easily as if she had touched him intimately. "That is none of _your_ concern, _ikzin_ ," she said, her hand coming up to pat his cheek lightly. 

He frowned at the dismissive gesture, but remained silent while she stood and left him.

*** *** ***

She did not see much of him during the next few days, and that was probably a good thing. It left her with the opportunity to get her own impulses back under control. She had already come closer to giving in to him than she had thought possible.

For now, the male was earning his food in the kitchen, with grandmama Megighda keeping him busier than work in the fields would have. Old Megighda, with her skin crumpled like an old date's and only two teeth left, kept a tight rein on the kitchen and her people. She would not tolerate disobedience or slacking, and even Tali had agreed that there was no better way to teach the puppy some manners.

Ziva breathed out slowly, turning her face into the morning sun with her eyes closed. Her body felt stiff, and she had to concentrate harder than usual to get her muscles to go along with her commands. Handling the saber was even more work, and she reminded herself to keep a tighter schedule on her training from now on. There was no good reason to let it slide, especially when they were on the trade, and especially when she needed the exercise.

It would have been nice to share this with Tali, but her sister was not too fond of handling weapons, let alone a saber. She knew her way around knives, for self-defense, but the only exercises she did with Ziva regularly were the ones that helped her with keeping her movements smooth and her body flexible. 

She knew that she could have easily asked her guards to train with her since there were a couple of really good fighters among them, but in the end, it came down to the fact that even after three summers, she did not trust any of them enough to engage them in a fight where she could compromise her own safety.

She stretched during the turns her naked feet made in the grass, bending her body until it began to complain, and it felt good to finally test her boundaries again. Her muscles loosened with the growing exertion, and her movements came easier eventually. The single thrusts and parries were flowing into one another more smoothly by the minute, and the sound of the saber parting the air turned into a softly whirring song.

 _'You need to remember that sometimes it is more like a dance than wielding a weapon,'_ the memory of her father's words rang in her head. _'Not the kind of dance the men do around the campfire when rattling their sabers, but the one that young women perform to impress the hungry men watching them. The kind that makes the blood run faster because of its beauty alone. The kind that leaves you breathless because you lose yourself in the rhythm of it.'_

The feeling of eyes on her pulled her out of the concentration now but Ziva still forced herself to finish the exercise. Eventually, she turned around to face the slave who had come to watch her in silence. The dark intensity in his gaze made a shiver run down her back, and she wasn't sure if he was staring at her like that because she only wore a tight vest and pants or because the physical part of her exercise was rousing him.

"What is it, _ikzin?_ " she asked, and to her own surprise she found that her voice sounded rough and almost unwilling to cooperate.

He cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together, and she found that the way he smiled as he ran a hand through his sun-kissed hair intrigued her more than it should. Good thing he was fully dressed this time, with the _djellaba_ covering most of his tempting body so that it kept the distraction to a minimum. Except for his eyes, of course, so restless on her, and his hands--

"I _was_ going to ask why I have been stuck with kitchen duty for the past three days... but now that I say it out loud that sounds silly, doesn't it?" he finished his sentence with a grimace that made her laugh.

"You want to complain about kitchen duty...?" she said, and a smile rose on her face while she moved closer to him.

His eyes flicked back and forth between her saber and the sway of her hips. "Well, it does seem a bit of a wa--"

His words were cut off when Ziva crossed the rest of the distance, hooked her foot behind his leg and gave his chest a quick shove. He fell hard and fast, and the impact, knocking the air out of his lungs for a moment, distracted him enough to not even attempt to fight back. His eyes widened in shock when Ziva put her knee down high on his thigh, the edge of her blade resting against his neck suddenly.

"Ask me to stop," she said, and when he started to open his mouth, she leaned forward until her leg slid fully between his thighs, making him gasp. "In _my_ language."

He stared at her, his mouth suddenly tense again, and he pressed his lips together tightly for a few moments. She waited, patiently watching how his harsh breathing made his chest heave. 

"That would be a lie," he said eventually, and Ziva laughed, bracing herself with her left hand against the ground beside his head and then leaning over him more. His mouth was so close now, so tempting... She smiled at him while she let the saber slide over his skin with just the right amount of pressure to remind him of the weapon.

"Then ask me to go on," she murmured, and his eyes darkened in that almost familiar way. His right hand came up to rest on her hip, scorching her through the thin layer of cloth.

And then he whispered " _Please_ ", his pronunciation almost perfect.

Heat rushed through her at the simple word, at the way he looked at her while he said it, and for just one heartbeat she felt herself hanging in the balance between two paths to take, one much more tempting than the other, the sensible one.

"Very good," she said at last, and she was slightly surprised to find that her voice sounded almost calm. "Did you learn that from grandmama Megighda?"

He blinked, too confused by the question and her closeness to answer right away, so he settled for a sharp nod while he watched her with a frown. His hand, still on her hip, tightened its grip the slightest bit, but fell away when Ziva pushed herself up again to stand over him.

"And that is the reason why I sent you to the kitchen," she said, turning to pick up the layers of clothes she had discarded before beginning her training. "There is no better place to learn the basics of our language and of our customs fast. Megighda always sees to that. Consider these your training days and make good use of them."

When she turned her head to look at him, she saw him still on the ground, just propped up on one elbow while he was watching her, his face torn between curiosity and enthrallment.

"And scrubbing the kitchen floor trains my language skills how?" he asked, a slight smile playing around his mouth when he couldn't settle for just one emotion.

"That trains your arms, silly," Ziva laughed while she slipped her _kaftan_ over her head, then picked up the saber again. "Makes you nicer to look at, _ikzin_."

He stood at that, too, and when he came towards her, there was annoyance in his eyes again, only she had no idea what had brought it on this time. His hands were flexing, clenching and unclenching with emotion running high, and she felt another unexpected wave of heat run through her at the sight, distracting her most deliciously.

 _"My name is Anthony DiNozzo,_ " he said in her tongue, and his pronunciation really was impressive after such a short time. "Anthony, or maybe Tony, if we're really cozy. Not... whatever that is you call me."

She stared up at him, breathing slightly faster, but managing to meet the anger swirling in his eyes with an expression much calmer than how she actually felt. 

"Your name is whatever pleases me, dear. You seem to forget that so easily."

His expression changed again at her words, turning from mere anger to cold fury for just a heartbeat, and Ziva tightened her grip on the saber until he blinked and shook his head, the tension flowing out of him with a few carefully controlled breaths.

"You're right," he said eventually and turned to leave. "There are things I shouldn't forget."

She watched the tight set of his shoulders as he turned and walked stiffly towards the house, and for the briefest of moments she wanted to call him back.

*** *** ***

When she saw him later in the kitchen, he pretended not to notice her, even though the sudden stiff set of his shoulders told her clearly that he had. Dirty pots were piled up in front of him, and he concentrated on scrubbing them with such ferocity that the rest of the kitchen folk gave him a wide berth to avoid his foul mood.

Megighda snorted when she saw the direction of Ziva's glance. "What did you do to him?" she asked, sucking on her pipe. The strong tobacco she smoked always made Ziva's eyes water, but as long as old Megighda served her as well as she did, she could have her way with her vile herbs.

The woman with the weathered face eyed Ziva curiously, scratching her neck underneath the white headdress. "I haven't seen him one day without a smile on his face yet, and now he suddenly looks as if he wants to take on the Sultan's guards with that sponge."

Ziva shrugged, not sure what to answer... mostly because she had no idea herself just _what_ she had done to him, really.

*** *** ***

She was awake by the time his naked feet stopped in front of her door, and her dagger was already in her hand when he put his fingertips against her door and pushed it open. She kept her breathing even as if she were still asleep and hid the dagger underneath her blanket while she waited for what the man had planned.

The moon was already high, filling her bedroom with enough light that she could make out his frame easily, and she watched with curiosity how he closed the door behind himself and then stood leaning against it for a few moments, as if he needed to gather his wits.

"Ziva?" he whispered, and when she didn't react, he took a few more slow breaths and then made his way over to her bed. He hesitated once more, then sat down beside her very carefully as if he were trying not to disturb her sleep, and it was almost comical when he eventually reached out to touch her shoulder and wake her after all.

He froze when she had her dagger against his throat before his fingertips had crossed the distance completely, and she even heard him swallow nervously.

"It's me," he muttered hastily while he leaned back and gave her some space.

"I know that already, _ikzin_ ," she said calmly, keeping her blade against his skin. "What I do not know is what you are doing in my bedroom at this hour when I most certainly have not ordered you to be here."

The moonlight painted soft reflexes across his jaws, and she saw him tense at her words. Anger threatened to overwhelm him again, and it took him a few moments to get his temper under control, but eventually, he sighed. She could tell that he tried to make out her face in the semi-darkness.

"I wanted to apologize."

Ziva blinked, trying to hide her surprise. She could feel him twitch nervously beside her, and she knew that he was waiting for an answer, but she couldn't come up with one.

"I said I--"

"I heard you," she interrupted him, taking the dagger from his throat but not tucking it away yet. "Why do you want to apologize?"

"Uhm... because I was out of line...?" She just glared at him, and he seemed to see that even in the dim light. With a sheepish grin, he raised a hand to rub his neck. "Right, you know that."

He was quiet for a while, and she saw that there was a fight going on inside him. His jaw clenched and unclenched a few times, and the moonlight turned his profile into something made out of stone. She almost jumped when he finally spoke again.

"This is new to me, Ziva," he said, and she blinked, wondering for a moment if she should remind him to address her more formally. But then he looked at her, and there was such conflict in his eyes that she decided that formalities could wait. "Not just being your... pet. It's all of this, you know. I barely ever set a foot out of my own country before, and now, I'm suddenly stuck in one that is as different from my homeland as day is from night."

She waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have run out of words already, and so she asked the one thing that came to her mind. "Then why are you here?"

He flinched, and the conflict was back just like that, chasing the rising hint of melancholy away as if she had snapped her fingers. He took a deep breath, and she could tell that he tried to sort his thoughts, carefully trying to figure out what to tell her.

"Because I have a duty to my country," he said eventually. "They sent me here for a task that needs to be done, and I failed early and got captured... but that does not relieve me from my duties."

"I see," Ziva said and sat up slowly. He was one with a sense of responsibility, and even though that surprised her on one level, it fit her image of him on a lot of others. She touched his knee gently, just a soft tap that was supposed to snap him out of his reverie. 

"Would your country pay well to get you back unharmed?" she asked, a slight smile curving her lips. To her surprise, though, that didn't amuse him at all but made him look even more stricken than before, and Ziva wondered what he wasn't telling her.

"I doubt it," he said with a grimace, and that made her lean forward until she could put her hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her.

"Then you will remain with us. It is that simple, and there is no shame in it." She felt the way his jaw clenched underneath her hand, but before he could turn this into a heated discussion, she continued. "You do not know the Rif. You do not know its people. You would, in all likelihood, be dead before you could even run a single mile, so I would prefer if you refrained from doing stupid things like trying to make your way out of these mountains alone. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He met her eyes with a strange expression, and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to lean over and kiss her, dagger in her lap be damned. And for another moment, she was almost tempted to go along with it should he be silly enough to try.

Then a sudden grin parted his lips, and he winked at her like a naughty child. "So you do care about me."

She dropped her hand from his cheek, snorting in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "I care about my investment," she clarified, but for some reason, his grin widened even more at that, and she felt compelled to roll her eyes at him. "And I will go back to sleep now."

He sobered once more, and that made her wonder yet again why he had come to her in the first place.

"Can I ask for a favor?" he said. Ziva cocked her head at him, one eyebrow rising, and so he added hastily, "You can say no of course..."

"I will most likely say no," she muttered, shoving her dagger back under her pillow and lying down to get comfortable again. "But you can ask."

He was silent again for a long time, and after a while she felt tempted to nudge him once more so she wouldn't fall asleep herself.

"What I saw you do this morning... it was impressive," he murmured, and that made her blink in confusion because it was not at all what she had expected. "And I think I would like to learn that."

"So you have a better chance at escaping back to your own country?" she asked while she stretched out between the pillows lazily.

He glared at her, his face in turmoil again. Then he shook his head. "One man against a mountain range full of people who learn to wield these things probably before they can walk?" he said with a snort. "I may be silly at times, but I try not to be utterly stupid."

She raised her eyebrow again, and this time it was him who rolled his eyes, acknowledging his questionable actions so far with a heavy sigh. But there was more to his question, even though he didn't seem too willing to share it, and it made her curious.

"Then why do you want to learn the art of the fight, Anthony?" she asked, touching his knee after all.

His eyes widened at the unexpected use of his name, and there was a different kind of conflict in his expression now, one she could place even less than the previous one. He took a deep breath.

"In my country, I have sworn an oath once, you see. I have always tried to be faithful to that oath, and I tried to serve my country with every fiber of my being. And I think I do... I did my work well. I'm good with orders. When I just do what needs to be done." His voice was so low now that Ziva had trouble understanding him, but it felt like interrupting him might make him stop altogether, so she remained silent, just listening. "But the service I took on also came with a lot of responsibilities, especially towards my team. And those people - good people - I failed."

His voice trailed off, and Ziva stared at him curiously, her eyes narrowing while she tried to judge his intentions. 

"I think I could actually get used to serving you. I... I don't want to, and it goes against everything I was taught. But I could." He stared down at his hands, searching for the right words and the courage to use them. "I don't want to fail you, too, and I'm only good with pistols and rifles, not with blades, so..."

"I can protect myself," she interrupted him quietly, and he met her eyes with a strange expression that made her pulse pound in her throat.

"I _know_ that," he said. "It would just make me feel a little more useful than scrubbing kitchen floors does, you know?"

He took a deep breath and then fell silent again, and she watched him grow tense before her eyes, clearly not happy with what he had just revealed to her. And maybe it was that glimpse of honesty that made the decision for her.

"Meet me at the gardens at sunrise," she sighed and rolled to her side, turning her back to him.

"Same place as today?" he asked after a long pause. There was a hint of something in his voice that hadn't been there before, and whatever it was, it made her heart skip a beat.

"Yes," she replied, but didn't turn to look at him. "Now get some sleep."

He moved beside her, and this time Ziva actually growled in annoyance. 

"Somewhere _else_."

"Oh. Right."

Ziva sighed again, not sure at all if what she had just agreed to had been such a wise decision on her part.

*** *** ***

"Again." Ziva's voice disrupted the man's harsh breaths, and he obeyed and repeated the move without questioning her order.

His muscles bulged while he turned and tried to copy the sidestep she had shown him earlier, and in the middle of it, Ziva moved in, tapped his side and corrected his stance. He did it once more before she could even ask him to, barely noticing her hands on his back while he tried to make it all flow more smoothly. She watched him carefully while he went through the motions stubbornly, unwilling to accept his body's limitations.

He had surprised her by not protesting when she had told him to strip down to his pants. She had waited for a remark about her own clothing, almost as sparse as his, but that also never came. Instead, he had watched her instructions carefully and tried to repeat the steps with an eerie concentration she would have never expected from him. 

Soon he was so lost in his exercises that she could even forget herself that barely half a day ago, he had distracted her to no end. Shortly after that, she started to do the stretching exercises and evasive moves along with him. Learning to fall without hurting himself would be next for him, and Ziva felt only slightly uncomfortable with that prospect. She was sure that would lead to a few more distractions again, since it would involve far more physical contact, but maybe, if he could keep his attention as tightly focused as he did right now...

He turned with her, perfectly attuned to her movements, and she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. He moved well with her, and he was a fast learner, too. So far it seemed that Tali had been right - he was a natural in all matters of the body.

*** *** ***

They settled for training in the morning hours just after sunrise, and to her surprise Ziva found that she could push him even harder than she could push herself. He repeated the exercises she showed him until he had either mastered them or his muscles gave, even if he still had to go to the kitchen afterwards. And so Ziva soon found that he had been truthful to her - that he was actually very good at what he did when he had a goal to focus on.

It urged her on, too, driving her further than her own training had in long years, and there were days, especially after they had begun handling sabers, when she felt utterly drained and tired afterwards - and better than she had in years.

The first time she cut him accidentally because her blade slipped, he whined like a little girl, and Ziva was soon so unnerved that she asked him with a roll of her eyes if he wanted to give up now so she could get breakfast instead of listening to him complain. He looked at her with a strange expression all of a sudden, and then he fell very quiet when he realized where the majority of the scars on her arms had come from. And just like that, he picked up his blade without another word and went into a defensive stance, blood running down his arm.

Once or twice Tali joined them, but she couldn't keep up with his stubbornness and Ziva's experience, so she soon settled for watching them compete with each other, trying to figure out which one of them would be the first to tire this time. It almost turned into a real match of stamina at times, with Tali cheering madly for her sister, of course, even though her glances lingered on her opponent more often than not.

The best thing about their training, though, was that it suddenly kept their strange bond at a pleasantly uncomplicated level. The physical exertion channeled a lot of his anger and frustration, and even though a lot of contact between them was necessary, it seemed far less distracting than it had been just a few days ago. It no longer held quite the same weight, and that, in effect, unraveled a lot of their tension and made touching each other a lot more bearable... and, in a strange way, a lot more interesting at the same time.

*** *** ***

The day Mennadim paid her a visit, their fragile balance shifted yet again, but this time Ziva wasn't quite so sure if it was for the better.

She hadn't paid too much thought about her rival trader since the auction in Tetouan because there had been enough things happening to distract her. Now that he had shown up on her doorstep and she was forced to offer him hospitality, she did not feel comfortable at all. His sneering mouth gave her a smile when he greeted her, but his eyes were cold, and he certainly hadn't forgiven her for stealing his merchandise, that much was sure.

She wondered what had brought him here, though, with just one man at his side. His home was in the eastern mountains, and he must have reached it days ago, so why was he in her valley now when he clearly wasn't on another trade?

"Come inside," she said, stepping aside to let him into the patio. "Wash your hands and feet, and then we will talk, yes?"

She waved over one of her men, telling him to deliver two messages. One was to Megighda, asking her for a more pompous dinner than the old hag had originally planned. The other was to Talia, ordering her to stay in her room until Mennadim was out of their house again.

*** *** ***

The trader's eyes lost some of their coldness when he saw his almost-purchase among those who served dinner, and Ziva ground her teeth and cursed herself that she hadn't thought about him, too.

"You still have the wild one?" he asked, running his fingers over Anthony's arm when he made the mistake of getting too close while setting down a steaming _tajine_ bowl in front of the trader. Mennadim chuckled at the way the arm was torn out of his reach immediately, and the glare from angry green eyes made him double over with laughter and hold his belly. "And you still haven't tamed him!"

"Well," Ziva replied while she gave Anthony a warning stare. "He is wild, after all. He needs a firm hand and a lot of training."

The slave's eyes narrowed, and that told her that his language skills had improved enough to understand the gist of that remark. She tilted her head to the side, then waved him closer with a lazy gesture, and the anger in his gaze flared high for a few heartbeats. Still, he obeyed and sat down by her side, tucking his feet under his legs. 

Ziva leaned over to him, putting two fingers under his chin until he gave in, turned his head and looked at her. "I like them wild," she said, her voice low, caressing him, and she was pleased at the sudden heat that distracted him enough to drive away the worst of the annoyance. Anger would make him careless, and carelessness would be dangerous tonight. "It makes them more interesting than the ones that are easily broken."

"Only until they are broken," Mennadim replied with a mocking snort and began to wash his hands.

*** *** ***

She was tired after the seemingly endless meal and the discussions during it. She had shown the trader and his man a room for the night eventually, but apparently there was no rest yet - the slave's hand was on her arm as soon as she set a foot into her own bedroom. His eyes still showed the same strange mixture of annoyance and want she had put there earlier, and for once she couldn't even bring up the energy to scold him for his brazenness.

"What was that all about?" he asked her in a low voice, and Ziva sighed, pulled her arm out of his grasp and began to take off her headscarf.

"I have no idea. Mennadim has never been one I do trade with because he can be a very sick man. Tonight, he asked me a few times to sell you to him, and his price got more outrageous with every offer. You might be the reason he is here, actually."

"I'm... should I be flattered?" Anthony asked, wincing at the notion.

"I doubt that. He may be interested in your qualities as a pet, but his ego is more important to him than his lust. I bruised his self-esteem badly when I snatched you from him at the auction. I don't know what he wants now, but I certainly don't trust him."

Ziva fell silent while her thoughts ran in mad circles, and when she met Anthony's eyes, she saw the same kind of concern mirrored there. She took a deep breath.

"Will you sleep with Talia tonight, _ikzin?_ " she asked him, bracing herself for the fresh anger she expected to roll off him any moment now. "I don't trust him, but I don't want to upset him without need by having too many of my guards around, and--"

"It's done," he simply said, and when he slipped out of her bedroom a moment later, she tried to concentrate on the relief she felt and not on the pang of jealousy stirring deep in her belly.

*** *** ***

It seemed almost as if the whole house breathed out in a collective sigh when Mennadim rode off with the sunrise of the next morning.

Ziva watched him and his man until she could no longer make them out, and only then did she allow her body to relax and let go of the tension she had been holding for the better part of the night. She still had no idea what he'd really had on his mind when coming here, but for now, it was over.

Tali showed up at her side shortly after that, hooking her arm into Ziva's while she rubbed her chin against her sister's shoulder.

"I'm not sure if I should be mad at you for locking me away or thank you for sending over your special guard," she said, and for some reason, that brought back Ziva's tension so fast that Tali drew back and shot her a curious glance. "He's waiting for you in the garden. Said he needs to blow off some steam now, so he asks if you want to join him for training."

Ziva nodded and untangled herself from her sister's grasp, but before she could leave, Tali touched her arm once more to hold her back.

"He hasn't closed his eyes once the whole night," she said, and for some reason her hand moved in gentle circles on Ziva's arm. "But he also hasn't touched me once."

Ziva's eyes narrowed at the unspoken assumption behind her sister's words, but Tali just shrugged and left her in favor of breakfast, not the least bit intimidated by the glare.

*** *** ***

He was already deeply lost in his exercises when she joined him. He moved somewhat stiffly, holding himself in a way that told her there was a tension in him that wasn't just relieved by loosening his muscles. She took off her robe and met him, saber raised, and her own shoulders felt just as tense.

It took only a few moves between them until Anthony's concentration slipped and his wandering mind made his mouth work when he should have paid more attention to her attacks.

"He did have one valid point," he said while he jumped back to evade a thrust, his chest heaving with the exertion, and Ziva eyed him warily while she circled him. 

"And what point is that?"

"Why am I still here?"

She missed her step and tumbled back, sitting down hard in the grass. When she raised her hand to signal an intermission, he came over to lend her his hand, and she accepted it and pulled herself back to her feet.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and even to her own ears her play at casual sounded off.

"You know what I mean." His reply was flat and oddly matter-of-fact, and it made her heart jump to have him this close. "You sold M'Besa two days after we came here. And I know that you had offers for me aside from Mennadim's. So why am I still here?"

She blinked, and while she took a step back herself now to get some distance between them, she felt her chin rise stubbornly. "I don't remember granting you the right to question my actions, slave."

Her owns words made her itch uncomfortably, and part of her waited for the angry reaction that would surely bring out of him. But for some reason, Anthony just cocked his head to the side and watched her with a curious expression.

"See, there's my problem," he said quietly. "You haven't treated me like one for a while."

Ziva felt her control slip for a heartbeat, and her eyes widened. Then she shook her head as if he were babbling nonsense and raised her saber again, and Anthony mirrored her movement in one fluid motion.

"So I'm right," he said, and while he parried her thrust, he gave her a quick, humorless smile.

Ziva stepped back again, a sudden irritation pulsing through her and wearing her patience thin. "Do not push me, Anthony," she spat, glaring at him. "You will not like what it brings out of me."

She saw his jaw clench as the anger finally rose in him, too. With a sharp nod, he stepped back, lowering his own saber, and without another word, he turned and put his _djellaba_ back on, ending the training session. 

"Why are you pressing this?" she heard herself ask, surprised at the strange kind of frustration that rang in her voice.

His back tensed visibly at the question. His movements came to a halt, and for a long while Ziva wasn't sure if she would even get an answer to this.

"Because I need to know if it's okay for me to get used to this," he said eventually, and his voice was so low that she wasn't sure if he had even meant for her to hear that.

*** *** ***

"Are you sure they were a lion's tracks?" Ziva asked, and the goat herder nodded excitedly, trying to lunge once more into the tale of how he had discovered the tracks beside the carcass of a mutilated goat two days earlier. She held up her hand to silence him. "Show me how they looked."

He nodded again, grabbed a thin stick and knelt down in the dust before her. Ziva stared at the skinny boy with the shorn head while he drew a likeness of the paw prints he had seen into the dirt, his tongue sticking out in concentration, and she had to agree that it certainly looked like a lion's paw.

There hadn't been lions in the Rif for long years now, but a few weeks ago, she had started hearing rumors about sightings in the mountains. She hadn't taken them too seriously until now because the Rifi often had a highly active imagination, and what was in truth a lame dog could easily turn into a lion if it was a boring summer. But she knew the goat herder, and so far the boy had never exaggerated his tales in the way it would take to actually fabricate the spirit of a full-fledged lion.

"And where did you see these tracks?" she asked, and the boy grinned at her, showing off two missing front teeth. Then he started into a long-winded description of the mountain pass in question.

*** *** ***

Planning the hunt didn't take long. Exercising the plans and readying their supplies accordingly took a lot longer, and Ziva found herself getting itchy soon, willing her men to work faster.

It should have surprised her more when Anthony pulled her aside in the middle of their preparations to ask where 'the hell' they were going in such a hurry.

"You are going back to the kitchen," she said pointedly and pulled her arm out of his grasp not too gently. "We are going to the mountains to kill a lion before it becomes a danger for my people."

The words took a while to register with his brain, and he just stared at her for a few moments, mouth hanging open. 

"Are you kidding me?" he finally asked. Right in the middle of the question his mind seemed to switch to the more serious part of her statement, though, and his eyes widened. "There are _lions_ in Morocco?"

"There haven't been, for quite some time," she replied, turning to watch the progress of her men. "But I heard rumors even while we were in Tetouan, and now it seems as if two have found their way over the Atlas, so we need to take them out before they kill someone."

"And you weren't going to tell me that?" His voice sounded strange all of a sudden, and Ziva turned, confused by the anger and mostly by the hint of pain she heard. She met his gaze to look for an explanation, but she didn't expect the rage she saw in his expression, barely controlled and so close to erupting that his hands even clenched into fists. "You were just going to run off and not take me with you?"

She blinked, slowly, confused and irritated when he took a step closer to her. "Of what use would you be, _ikzin?_ " she asked, staring up at his angry face and the clenched jaw. "Have you ever hunted a lion?"

"Well, have _you?_ " he yelled into her face, and she actually flinched at that.

Two of her men stopped packing, and Ziva could tell that they were just waiting for what would happen next, ready to interfere at any moment if things got out of hand.

It took some effort to hold his angry gaze, and even though she thought she did well, she was apparently mistaken because his eyes suddenly widened.

"You haven't," he said, and she heard the shock ring loud in his voice. "You have no idea what you're doing, but you don't want to take along the one guy who can actually take those things out with a rifle and one shot?"

Ziva's eyes narrowed. "Bragging does not become you."

And just like that, the scorching anger was back in his eyes. "I have seen your men shoot, Ziva. They'd hit their mark better if they'd use the rifle as a club," he hissed into her face. "But taking out live targets is what I do for a living. I'm damn good at it, and if you don't believe me, hand me a pistol right now and let me prove it to you!"

Her eyes widened at the tone of his voice, and when she met his gaze with her heart pounding in her throat, she not only believed him, but trusted him. And he saw that, saw the moment her resolve weakened and she revised her decision, and that, in turn, exposed something in his own face that Ziva would have never expected to see: concern. 

He was afraid for her safety.

And that simple thing shocked her just as much as it would have shocked him if he had known she saw it in the first place.

*** *** ***

They traveled light for reasons of speed and mobility - no tents, just the necessary provisions for them and the mules and horses.

When he had first seen their stable, Anthony had asked her why they hadn't made the journey to Tetouan and back on horses in the first place, since they surely were more comfortable than a mule to ride on. Ziva had laughed at the notion and explained to him that she had lost one of her best horses already because she had foolishly taken it to Tangier on one of her early trades. The Sultan had fallen in love with it, and what the Sultan wanted, the Sultan got, of course. From then on, she had been cautious about showing off her horses - and all things valuable, actually.

Now, though, in their homelands and depending on mobility, horses were a much better choice than just the mules, especially if they were to engage in a hunt. Ziva's own, a white mare with a bit of a temper, danced around nervously, not for fear, but for excitement - the girl had an eerie sense of knowing when she would have a chance to run wild.

"Be safe," Tali said to her instead of a goodbye, and for a moment Ziva felt her throat constrict because she couldn't remember the last time she had been separated from her sister for longer than a night. Then Tali laughed and slapped not the horse's ass, but Anthony's, and the glare he gave her in response brightened Ziva's mood considerably.

*** *** ***

They made good speed on the first day, almost reaching the spot where the boy had found the lion tracks, so when they set up camp in the evening, they decided that they would keep the camp and head to the pass on horse early in the morning, following the little goat herder's directions.

The boy, who had spent most of the ride wobbling along on one of the mules excitedly, got more than nervous now that they were actually nearing the site, and Ziva couldn't blame him. The prospect of running into a living, breathing lion, however slim the chances were, was not something she actually looked forward to herself. Still, it was her responsibility to find out if there really was a dangerous beast running loose in her lands.

Two of her men began trading stories after dinner, and that turned into a battle of performance soon, with each of them trying to come up with a more outrageous tale to tell. Of course, each claimed that every word they said was completely true and every event they talked about had happened right before their very eyes, may Allah strike them... which usually meant that a brother's friend's nephew had told it to them around a very similar campfire once, in a very similar fashion.

Ziva tried to keep a casual eye on their surroundings while her people were distracted by the storytellers. She was pretty sure that no lion would attack a noisy camp like theirs, but one could never be sure about other tribes that might hold a grudge.

Her eyes fell on Anthony, who seemed to be quite taken by the babbling Rifi. He stared at the men with an almost child-like delight on his face, his eyes shining and his lips slightly parted, and soon Ziva found that for some reason her eyes kept returning to him, watching him curiously. Sometimes he smiled when the men's tone got heated, and she was pretty sure that he had no idea how much he looked like a little boy, enraptured. Seeing him like that brought a smile to her own face.

When she sat down beside him, he flashed her a quick smile, then turned his face back to the storytellers.

"Do you even understand them?" she asked in a low voice, and he shook his head.

"Not much, they're pretty fast," he replied, still distracted. "Doesn't matter. It's not what they say, it's how they say it."

She stared at him curiously. True enough, he seemed transfixed by their expressions and the quick movements of their hands that accompanied the lengthy tales. For a moment she wondered if he saw something in it that she had missed herself over the years.

"Have you ever been to the theater?" he asked her suddenly, and she shook her head. "It's a bit like this, with people on a stage, in costumes, retelling the stories other people have written down for them. It's... Sometimes the actors are bad, and you want to laugh or groan at them because they are boring, but sometimes, they just pull you into their story like _that_ ," he snapped his fingers, "and it's like you're suddenly in a different world."

He fell silent, and Ziva watched him, lost in her own thoughts, thinking about his. 

"I saw the great Sarah Bernhardt once," he murmured suddenly. His expression transformed with the words, turning into one of longing and a love long lost, and Ziva felt a sharp sting at the heavy emotion that unknown woman drew out of him even in remembrance. "Back when I was a kid, we were in Paris, and one day my dad took me to see _The Lady of the Camellias_. I barely spoke a word of French, but I didn't need to understand the words to know what she felt. I swore that I would go back to see her perform every single night she was on that stage, for as long as we were in Paris."

He fell silent, and Ziva watched him slip into a memory long gone. His eyes no longer saw the Berber men now, but some long forgotten act, and she was surprised to see how raw and unguarded the emotion playing across his face was.

"Did you?" she asked, and her words rang so loudly in her own ears that she almost expected him to flinch.

He didn't, though, just sighed softly. "No." He twisted the hem of his _djellaba_ between his fingertips without noticing it, and the set of his shoulders seemed tense suddenly and in stark contrast to his soft-spoken words. "We left Paris the next morning. When the play was over, he told me that mother had died, so we would go back to the States, finally."

The light of the campfire played over his cheeks and made little sparks dance in his eyes, and for a moment Ziva thought that they looked wet.

"You should have seen her, Ziva. She is such an amazing woman. She broke a few hearts with that performance." A slight frown crept onto his face, and for some reason, Ziva suddenly felt like she was intruding on something private. "I remember looking at my father once, and I couldn't understand why he was so... it didn't touch him at all. There we were, a whole room full of people, all reeling from what we had just seen, and he looked as if he'd only read the morning paper."

He fell silent again, and Ziva could only stare at him now, watching the tense set of his mouth and the way his jaw clenched a few times. "Strange how sometimes pretending can feel so much more real than reality," he murmured eventually.

She kept watching his mouth and the way his fingers tapped distractedly on his knee now. The part of her that understood what he meant did not have a good answer to that.

*** *** ***

She felt her mind begin to run in useless, endless circles again soon after they had finally settled for the night, and for a while she was sure that she wouldn't get any sleep tonight. For some reason, though, her wandering thoughts calmed a short while after Anthony had shaken out his blankets and gone to sleep just a body's width beside her own bedding. And soon after that, she fell asleep to the sound of his snoring.

*** *** ***

He had shifted in his sleep a few times, apparently, and Ziva's pulse gave a tiny jolt when she opened her eyes in the morning and found his mouth close enough to kiss him easily.

His face, so hard and angry at times, was slack and utterly relaxed. The lack of tension suited his features in a way that tugged at her strangely, and for just a moment, she was tempted to raise her hand and touch his cheek, just to feel the stubble scratch against her fingertips. 

She suppressed the urge and got to her feet carefully, trying not to wake him.

*** *** ***

The water of the well she had found hidden behind a row of oleander bushes just east of their camp was colder than she had expected, and that cleared her mind as easily as if she had snapped her fingers. The cold tightened her skin almost painfully, and she gasped when icy rivulets ran down her body, glad that she had decided to just wash quickly and not go inside completely.

The sensation of being watched suddenly sent a different kind of shiver down her back, though, and it did not surprise her when she looked over her shoulder and saw Anthony just a few feet from her, staring at her naked back as if he had just seen a ghost. 

His eyes met Ziva's, dark with something that wasn't quite lust yet, but far from anger, and whatever the thing was that burned him up now, it made her turn around to face him instead of covering herself. She could see how his breathing picked up a faster pace when his eyes roamed over her naked chest, and for just a moment she was sure that he would come for her now. That he would just reach for her and bury his hands into her hair and--

"My apologies," he pressed out, his voice rough. His hands tightened into fists, and he turned and left her, forcing one foot in front of the other so stiffly that she could almost hear his joints grind in resistance.

Ziva watched him leave, taking a deep breath herself. And while she stared at his back and the tense set of his shoulders, she wondered how he had come so close without her noticing it.

*** *** ***

He was lost in a training exercise when she found him a short while later, and for a few moments she just watched him while he moved, bare-chested and breathing harder than ever. His back was turned towards her, and this time he seemed to be the one completely oblivious to her approach. She stared at him, wanted to catch his attention, but calling him would have disrupted the exercise, so she just moved closer quietly until he would eventually notice her.

He really didn't hear her coming, though. And Ziva certainly didn't see the punch coming that caught her in the chest and sent her to the ground when he reacted to the movement he only saw out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," he muttered, dropping to his knees beside her, and she raised a hand to wave it off, even though she was gasping for air after the unexpected impact. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I..." She coughed and tried to sit up, but her eyes watered and she fell back into the grass, so she tried to take slow, even breaths and settled for just watching the clouds chase each other for a while.

"Well, that was unexpected," she finally said. She turned her head to look at him, and he grimaced, guilt showing clearly. That, in turn, made Ziva laugh shakily. "Oh, don't look at me like that, _ikzin._ That's what you wanted to learn, yes?" She propped herself up on one elbow, facing him, and then she wagged her index finger at him. "But do not assume that you will always have me flat on my back this easily."

"I would never," he said, returning her smile and stretching out in the grass beside her with a strangely contented sigh. "So what's my reward?"

Ziva had to chuckle at that. "A reward for assaulting your owner?" she asked.

"A reward for getting her flat on her back?" he offered in return, then grinned broadly. "Actually, that is a pretty good reward in itself..."

His hand came up fast to wrap around her wrist when she tried to punch him for that, and that was another contact which, quite unexpectedly, switched the mood between them. And because that new mood, whatever it was, felt even better than the playful teasing, he didn't let go of her this time. And Ziva didn't draw back.

"What kind of reward did you have in mind?" she asked, and her voice sounded strangely rough because his fingertips were stroking the inside of her wrist now, and that felt a little more than just good.

He leaned towards her, just a tiny bit, but it was enough to bring his tempting lips so much closer to her mouth. His breath was suddenly warm on her face. Fingertips, still stroking her skin until a shudder ran through her.

 _"Kiss me,"_ he murmured in her language, and her stomach fluttered with the words and the rough urgency in his voice. His eyes, so dark and intense all of a sudden, held her gaze, and she found herself arching into him involuntarily until she was almost, almost close enough to touch his lips, her pulse pounding in her ears--

And then she frowned. "I do hope you did not learn _that_ from grandmama Megighda."

He blinked, slightly confused, slightly more aroused. "No, Tali--" he began, and the moment the words left his lips, he winced, knowing full well how that would come across. 

And even though Ziva knew it only sounded that way, it helped to clear her head, and she drew back, pulling her arm out of his grasp none too gently. "Pick something reasonable, _ikzin_."

"It felt pretty reasonable a minute ago," he said, and she glared at him until his own eyes narrowed. "Fine. Then tell me what that nickname means that you keep using on me."

"What, Tali didn't tell you already?" she snapped at him, and as the words left her mouth, she already hated herself for the silly annoyance she felt over something so trivial.

He just glared at her, and she found to her surprise that his anger seemed to hold much more weight when she was this close to him. Maybe it was just because his body was still almost touching hers. Why was she still lying beside him, anyway?

She lowered her gaze. "It means... I think 'young one' is the best way to translate it," she said, surprising herself by actually answering his question.

And of course, he frowned at her. "I'm older than you," he stated, slightly indignant, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Not younger. Young, like... a cub, you know? Or a foal."

"A _foal?_ Why on earth do you call me a foal?"

"Because," she replied and tried not to grin because his huffed reaction showed the very reason why. "Because you are like a foal sometimes, all big eyes and lanky legs, and you have no real idea yet about what you can do, really." He frowned slightly, and she was pleased to see that for once he didn't burst into an angry spout but actually seemed to think about what she had just said. Maybe that was the reason she tapped her fingers to his chest and added, "But you _are_ full of promise."

"Hm," he said eventually, a slight grin now curving his mouth. "A cub, eh? Never been called a puppy before."

"That is highly surprising, considering all that fur of yours," she snorted, and it amused her even more when he tried to be annoyed with her and didn't quite manage the trick.

*** *** ***

One of her guards disturbed them moments later, and the man's expression was serious enough that it killed Ziva's amusement as if he had emptied a bucket of cold water over her head. When he told her that apparently the goat herder had run off during the night, with no traces left behind, she just frowned at first, wondering why he would do that.

"A setup," Anthony said when she translated for him, and that was when she felt the first of the cold shivers down her spine. "Someone wanted to get you here badly enough to bribe or threaten the boy into leading us here."

"Yes, but why?" she asked. "There was no ambush on us, right?"

He frowned, and she could see that he was thinking furiously now. 

"Not on us..." he said eventually, and Ziva felt the color drain from her face.

"Tali!" she whispered.

She only took the time to saddle her horse and yell at her men to break camp and head home as fast as they could. Then she rode off, pushing her mare for the fastest pace the beast could bear.

It didn't surprise her all that much when Anthony only needed a few moments to catch up with her.


	4. Chapter Three

She had to know that he was right beside her while they drove the horses back to the house at a mad pace, but she didn't acknowledge it once, and Anthony soon forgot about catching her attention and just tried to keep up with her without getting lost. Her face was frozen in shock, far from her usual composure, and he couldn't blame her. With each mile they covered, he felt the sick feeling in his own stomach grow heavier.

By the time they reached the house hours later, Ziva's eyes were wide with panic, and when she jumped off her horse, she stumbled and fell to her hands and knees, for a few moments breathing so hard that it looked painful.

He called her name while his own horse staggered into the yard, and he slid off the poor thing haphazardly to run over to Ziva and help her back to her feet. Her hand clenched around his hard, but she still didn't look at him, just stared at one of her men who had just come out of the house, pressing a bloody rag to his temple.

"Yattu..." she whispered, her mouth twisting in a sudden rush of pain. 

She let go of Anthony's hand and ran over to her man, grabbing his arm. Yattu winced, then shook his head at her question, replying in a rush of words that Anthony didn't understand. He had a good idea about what was being said, though, when Ziva stepped back, her hands clenching into fists. She was shaking hard, and for a moment he thought she'd fall. 

And then she screamed.

The sound of outrage and terror made Anthony's skin crawl, and he already moved towards her long before she actually turned, going straight for her exhausted horse again. She tried to evade him when he stepped in her way, and so he grabbed her shoulders, saying her name as if that would be enough to make her stop. It wasn't, of course, so when she tried to get his hands off her and him out of her way, he started shaking her.

"Ziva, wait! Does he know--" His words brushed past her like a gust of wind, and he grabbed her harder to get her attention. "For God's sake, don't just run off now, woman! Does he... oh, get your hands off me and let me talk to her!" he yelled at Yattu angrily, who had tried to step between them. 

The man had no idea what was being said, he just saw that Ziva was in distress, and that was enough to push him into action. And if there was one thing Anthony couldn't blame him for, it was not wanting to fail her again.

But then Yattu saw something in Anthony's face that made him glance at Ziva, and she had come back to herself enough to nod at her man. He wasn't happy about standing back, and he clearly didn't like the way Anthony handled her, but he was good at following orders, too.

Anthony turned back to her, staring at her until she blinked and came out of her blind rage bit by bit. "That's better, girl," he said, so very tempted to pull her closer, but deciding against it for all sorts of reasons. "Now listen to me for a second. Does he know she is your sister?"

"I... do not think so, no," she replied, her voice still shaking. Her brows drew together in a frown, and she tried to concentrate despite the turmoil in her thoughts. "Few traders even know her. And he would not have been stupid enough to do this if he knew that I would kill him and his offspring for it."

"That's... good, I think," Anthony said, frowning himself because he knew that she was serious.

"How is that _good?_ " she yelled into his face, falling back into fighting him as if he had snapped his fingers, and he tightened his grip on her shoulders again. "That rotten dog has Tali!"

"Because I think he just did that to mess with you," he replied, trying to keep calm and mostly failing. "I think he planned on getting me, but he just as easily settled for the one who ruined his purchase. You screwed him over, he screws you over, now you're even."

"That doesn't make it any better!"

"No," he agreed. "But I think it makes Tali a bit safer. If he had wanted a feud, he would have come with all his men, and he would have taken you, your house and your people by force."

Her eyes narrowed, then she tried to push him back and go for her horse again, but he kept his grip on her until she glared at him again angrily.

"Will you stop and think for one minute, girl?" he groaned. "We need a plan here."

" _We?_ The last time I looked she wasn't your responsibility!"

"The last time I looked, you _made_ her my responsibility!" he hissed, his voice just as scalding as hers, and she flinched as if he had hit her. Her face was pale all of a sudden, and he wanted to hold her so badly right then that the urge to draw her to his chest was an almost painful thing to fight.

"Listen to me, Ziva," he said, and his hands went for her face instead, pushing the unruly hair out of her eyes. She was a mess. Why hadn't he even noticed before that she had run off without her scarf? "This guy thinks he's playing a... a game of chess. And maybe he's right about that, but even if he is, it's a game we can win, if we pick the right strategy."

Her eyes met his, and for the span of just one heartbeat, it was only Ziva who looked at him, not the trader, not the fighter, and certainly not the girl who had built a hundred walls around herself. His heartbeat jumped to a hard, fast pace because this was it, finally - the moment to be completely honest with her. And being honest would bring them apart, just like that.

"Ziva, trust me. I have been trained to handle situations like this," he said, very quietly. "I am so good at it that it's the very thing that brought me to your country in the first place."

She stared at him, confusion twisting her face now even though the pain was still obvious. "What?"

He took a few slow, carefully controlled breaths, his eyes fixed on her mouth now so he wouldn't have to meet her gaze, his hands still grasping the sides of her face so she wouldn't push him away.

"On May 18th, a little more than a month ago, a man named Ion Perdicaris was abducted in Tangier by a Rifi bandit calling himself Mulai Ahmed er Raisuli."

"Yes. I heard rumors about that, but what does it--"

"That man," he interrupted her, and his fingertips moved gently against her hairline until she closed her mouth and listened to him, "was an American citizen. And our President, Roosevelt - he doesn't take this sort of thing lightly. He was, in fact, outraged at the notion of paying ransom to such a brazen kidnapper."

Ziva frowned, and unspoken questions chased themselves across her face. Still, this time she remained quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"Right now there are seven American warships at Tangier, just waiting for his signal to attack." He sighed, and that was the moment when he could no longer avoid meeting her eyes. "But as much as Roosevelt wants to do that, he can't because it would provoke a major conflict with the Europeans. So he only sent a few of his men ashore to take care of this whole thing quietly. One small team of good soldiers to take out a group of bandits before an American citizen comes to harm."

Her eyes widened when she finally understood what he was saying. "The _Raisuli?_ You came here to go up against the Raisuli? Are you that mad?"

"No," he said, keeping his grasp on her face, holding her gaze. "I am that good."

Her pulse beat harshly against his skin, and it hurt to have her stare at him like that, in a weird mixture of accusation and sudden understanding. 

"And then you got taken," she suddenly said, very quietly, and he wasn't sure what to make of her tone, so he just nodded.

"And then I got taken, yes."

He watched her think, and it sent a strange pang of discomfort through him to see her withdraw from him a little more with each second.

"So this is the duty you need to get back to," she said eventually, and her voice was strangely raw, grinding against his skin. Somehow, his muscles suddenly lacked control, and his hands fell away from her face after all. "Why are you telling me this now? So you can barter with me?"

"I am telling you this so you will listen to me. Because I want Tali to have a chance," he pressed out through gritted teeth, and while he spoke, he leaned closer to her until his forehead almost touched hers. "Which she doesn't have when you rush in there now and get yourself killed."

"It would be the fastest way for you to get back to your duties, yes? Just lean back and watch me go on this feud."

"Are you _silly_ , woman?" he growled, and she gasped when he grabbed her arms, his fingers digging hard into her flesh this time. He felt the shudder that ran through her, and her mouth was so close suddenly that he had to close his eyes for a moment. "I want neither of you dead," he said roughly, and for just a moment, he felt her hand rest on his waist.

"But you still expect to walk free," she spoke softly against his lips, and his eyes flew open again.

She just stared at him, her face as calm and unmoved as she had looked at him that first day in the slave _souk_ , and Anthony felt his own face go blank while he watched her draw back inside herself. 

It wasn't like he really had a choice in this. He had known that all along. He'd just chosen to ignore it for a while.

"Very well," she said, and her voice was curt now and so carefully controlled that it felt like ice scraping against his skin. "I will listen to you until my men are back. If you find a solution that is better than brute force, we have an agreement."

A strange pain blossomed in his chest while he watched her go inside, but that was surely just an echo to the stiff set of her shoulders.

*** *** ***

She did agree with him eventually that just riding off alone and trying to rip Mennadim's heart out was not the smartest way to go. They discussed different strategies, and she had objections against most of the ones he came up with, but Anthony didn't mind too much. He was more than willing to just go along and have a chance to back her up if it meant they would get Tali back home safely. Because he would mind a lot more if they wouldn't manage that.

When he asked her if she knew anyone who could back them up with men or firepower, though, Ziva grew thoughtful for a few moments.

"My uncle," she said slowly. "He owes me a favor, even though he may not see it like that."

"We'll pay him a visit then. Is that a long detour?"

"No, it's the same direction as Mennadim is headed, we won't even lose time over that. It's just..." She bit her lip, hesitating while thoughts ran through her head. It was the first time he had seen her this reluctant, and that made him wary. "We will travel through the territory of tribes that are not necessarily friendly, _ikzin_. We need to present ourselves as strong as possible."

"What does that mean?" he asked cautiously, and her eyes flicked to the left for a heartbeat.

"I think it will be best if I mark you, both as a warrior and as loyal to me."

"Mark me _how?_ "

"Henna will suffice," she said, and there was a slight smile tugging at her lips while she said it, probably because he seemed so hesitant. But just as soon as her amusement had shown up, it vanished again, and she grew tense while she waited for him to agree. When he nodded, she mirrored the gesture and said, "Go wash and shave, then. I will wait in my rooms for you, and then I will draw your markings."

She met his eyes while she said that, and there was something flickering in her expression, but it was so deeply buried underneath the tension that he had no idea what to make of it.

*** *** ***

Ziva did not look up from her preparations when he entered the room where she had served him tea once. There was a divan sitting in one corner of the room this time, and she waved a hand in its general direction, urging Anthony to sit down. When he didn't move, she glanced at him briefly, then turned her attention back to the greenish mass of dye she was stirring.

"I suggest you make yourself comfortable, since this will take a while," she recommended. "And take off the _djellaba_. I need your neck and shoulders bare."

He obeyed reluctantly and stripped down to his pants while he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Yattu and another of her guards were giving him the same scrutiny from the other side of the room, and Anthony didn't feel too comfortable with having them around. He could tell that Yattu in particular didn't seem too happy with whatever was about to happen, and that, in turn, made Anthony restless enough to rub his fingertips against each other nervously.

Ignoring the men was easier as long as he focused his attention on something else, though, so he sat down on the divan and busied himself with adjusting the pillows in his back until he felt like he could spend the next hour without fidgeting too much. Then he leaned into them and began to watch Ziva unabashedly. 

She didn't react to his staring. In fact, she barely acknowledged his presence at all. Still, he felt his pulse speed up when she took off the layers of her own clothing that would hinder her with long sleeves and stiff fabric. And suddenly he wondered how she would be comfortable during this, with no chair or stool in sight. 

She answered his question in a quite unexpected way when she came over to the divan, the dye bowl in her hand, then swung her leg over his and sat down on his thighs, just like that. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden feeling of her body astride his, and his hands came up to her hips involuntarily.

"Sorry," he murmured when her eyebrow arched up at the touch, and he carefully raised his hands from her body. He tried to lean back further. Tried to get some distance between them. Failed, of course. His pulse pounded in his temples suddenly, and Ziva must have felt his distress because she met his eyes with a strange expression crossing her face.

And then, she shrugged. "I told you to get comfortable, yes?"

His mouth was too dry to reply to that, and so he just followed the unspoken offer and put his hands to her thighs again. Her muscles flexed under his touch, and that feeling sent such a mad rush of heat through him that he couldn't help but slide his fingers further up, slowly, deliberately. Ziva's eyes, still holding his gaze, darkened just the slightest bit.

He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes, and that was when Ziva released the breath she had been holding.

"Listen to me," she said, and her voice was so quiet and intense all of a sudden that he had no choice but to look at her once more. "This is not a fancy game."

She paused, closing her mouth again as if searching for the right words, and Anthony frowned, wondering where she was going with this.

"If I mark you as my warrior now, I mark you as loyal and faithful to me, for all to see," she said eventually. And then she hesitated again, for such a long moment that Anthony was tempted to say something, anything, just for the sake of filling the silence stretching between them. "And I need to know that you will act accordingly."

His frown deepened at the way she rushed out the words, and it felt as if there was something else going on, something he wasn't getting yet. Her body tensed underneath his hands again, and a weird reflex made him move his thumbs in calming circles on her thighs until the tension receded. And that was when he understood. 

She needed the reassurance that she had made the right decision in trusting him. That he would be at her back whenever she turned. And strangely, that was a promise he could make without thinking twice about it.

"I'm yours," he said, and the words came so easily that he didn't even notice at first how her eyes widened at his choice of phrasing.

Only when she added "for as long as this takes" a gentle panic rose in his throat, reminding him of what he had just said. Urging him to run far and fast from whatever this was and not look back once, like he had always done before.

"For as long as this takes," he confirmed quietly, and Ziva blinked, staring at his mouth for a moment. The thoughtful expression crossed her face again, and he had no idea what to make of that, but he couldn't find the right words to ask her what was going on.

"The markings will go here," she said eventually, running her hand down the right side of his jaw, then down his neck and to his shoulder. Her fingertips ghosted over his skin and produced goose flesh in their wake. "And here."

Her voice was just as soft as her touch this time, and he found himself staring at her lips until she told him to turn his head to the side and stay like that.

"Now, I am not as good at this as Tali," she murmured, and her breath on his neck made his hands tighten on her hips involuntarily. "But it'll do."

Her hand ran over his skin once more, getting a better feel for him, and for just a moment, his jaw tensed at the strange familiarity of her touch. Then he breathed out and closed his eyes.

*** *** ***

The henna paste was cool on his skin, and after a while he grew used to the feeling of it being applied. Ziva used something that looked like a piece of wire stuck to a handle, and at first glance the wire had looked so much like a needle that Anthony had been squeamish about it.

She started the pattern on his shoulder, working her way up, and his curiosity made him try and sneak a glance at it every now and then, only to have her grab his chin and turn his head away again so he would not get in the way of her hands.

Sometimes, the wire would scratch his skin, and once he even flinched at the sensation, which brought him a stern glance from Ziva and an arrogant chuckle from Yattu. The latter was what made Anthony concentrate, and he sat still after that, his head turned to the left, his wrists resting lightly on Ziva's thighs, hands only touching her whenever she shifted in his lap and he couldn't fight the reflex.

She painted her way up his jaw soon, and for a while Anthony did well. Then Ziva leaned closer towards him to better reach the side of his neck, and his whole attention shifted rapidly towards the warm, lively body moving in his lap. Her breath seemed so warm against his skin suddenly, and the sensation, too close for comfort, sent a shudder through him. 

His gaze drifted to her mouth, and even though he could only see her face out of the corner of his eye because she was so close now, he saw that her mouth was slack and her lips slightly parted while she concentrated on marking him. She tilted her head and leaned over him even more, and he imagined simply pressing his mouth to hers and taking those lips, accepting the unspoken invitation they seemed to offer. His pulse picked up a faster pace, and when her movements stilled for a heartbeat, he was sure that she had noticed the effect her closeness had on him. Then she continued as if nothing had happened, and Anthony breathed out, trying to get his body under control.

Her skin smelled faintly like jasmine, though, and she was so lost in marking him that she didn't seem to care that her breasts pressed against his chest every now and then. She shifted on his lap again, and his breath hitched in his throat. His hands moved to her hips, stroking her lower back out of their own accord, and he felt the soft cloth of her undergown under his fingertips while she seemed to press even closer to him for a moment.

The wire scratched over the skin of his cheek while Ziva's hand slid to the back of his neck to keep him still and in just the position she wanted, and her touch scorched his skin. His breath suddenly came in harsh pants, and his arousal was so painfully obvious by now that he wondered idly why she hadn't told him off yet. Then her thumb ran down the side of his neck, and he felt such a strong wave of answering heat rise from her body that he pulled her closer involuntarily, against his hardness.

She didn't react at first, just kept working on her patterns, and he tried to get a grip on the urges she drew out of him, urges that had him throbbing with need in a way that was no longer a mere distraction, but a rather overwhelming pounding in his veins.

"Do you mind?" she said suddenly, and he gasped at the feel of her hips shifting against his cock, so very distracting even through multiple layers of cloth. "I need to concentrate here."

She didn't meet his eyes, and she didn't draw back, either, and it would have only taken another inch to press his mouth to the curve of her neck and suck on her jasmine skin, and that thought didn't help at all.

"Sorry," he said, but his hands tightened on her hips in a way that belied his apology. Ziva gave a soft snort, then quickly drew the last of the markings on his jaw and lower cheek.

Eventually, she waved over her second guard, and the man handed her another bowl filled with something that smelled like lemon juice. With a soft piece of cloth, she dabbed the sticky liquid over the markings she had drawn, careful not to smear them in the process.

"This needs to stay on for as long as possible," she murmured, and he imagined that he could feel the movement of her lips while she spoke the words against his skin. "Peel it off before you go to sleep. And see to it that you stir some heat in your body tonight. It will help to make the markings come out dark and clear."

She leaned back so she could look at him, and that pressed her against his cock once more, giving him a very vivid image of the kind of heat he would have liked to stir up tonight. And so, when her eyes met his, dark and wide and suddenly burning with something that mirrored his own lust, he put one hand to the small of her back, lifted her and rolled her to her back on the divan in one fluid motion.

Her thighs clenched around his hips out of reflex, one foot hooking around his leg when he flipped her over, and she gasped when he pressed into her body and let her feel his arousal. Her hips jerked to meet his, just the tiniest movement, but it was there, and in that instant he knew that she would just _fit_. That they would move perfectly in the sheets together, just like they did in their morning exercises. That he would be able to make her scream and lose her mind a little, just like she would be able to do that to him.

He stared down at her slightly parted lips, and he leaned down to kiss her, to push his tongue between those tempting lips and take her mouth and start the delicious madness his body screamed for. And then he hesitated after all, because while she met his eyes squarely, her hand was not on him, but stretched out straight to the side, signaling her guards to stand back and not kill him - yet.

She saw the exact moment the situation registered with him, and that was when she leaned closer to him after all, letting her lips almost brush his. "Show some restraint here, Anthony," she hissed, and the shudder her angry words evoked made her gasp in turn. Her eyes narrowed even more. "If you destroy the markings now in favor of _this_ , you abolish our deal."

He blinked and tried to sort through the conflicting messages of her anger and her heat, both rousing him equally and not letting him think too clearly. Eventually, he drew back, slowly, his muscles screaming with the effort it took to push himself off her.

"You were the one who insisted on keeping a clear head in this," she told him then, and he flinched at having his own words thrown back into his face in such an unexpected way. "I need to rely on you being able to do so at all times."

He watched her while she sat up and carefully moved to the other side of the divan, and the way she kept her eyes on him made him run a slightly shaky hand through his hair. 

"You could have just said that you don't want me to touch you."

Ziva took a few calming breaths, then stood and moved away from the divan. "That would have been a lie," she said, and his head shot up, but she shook her own head before he had even opened his mouth. "No, Anthony. The truth is, this is not going to happen."

He stared at her, watched the tension in her face, and this was the time for her to draw back behind her usual masks of calm again to end this discussion. For some reason, though, she just turned and left him like that, with too much emotion still swirling in her eyes.

*** *** ***

He didn't sleep much that night, partly from anxiety, partly from the frustration still lingering in his body, and so he met Ziva at the first hint of sunrise on the balcony of her bedroom. For a few moments, he just watched her breathe deeply, her palms pressing against the railing, her head falling back while she tasted the morning air. Her hair, not yet hidden underneath her headdress, fell down her back in long, wavy strands, and he was tempted to bury his hands into it and draw her close, consequences be damned.

She turned her head to look at him, and it startled him at first to see dark henna markings in her face, too - the three ragged lines of her tribe that ran from the edge of her bottom lip down to her chin, meeting there, and some claw-like markings over her left eyebrow that looked eerily like the ones she had drawn to his cheek.

"It suits you," he said, and she blinked, touching her chin.

"Tali would say that it is just like me to accept my tribe's marking only after it has been torn apart," she said with a wistful smile, and Anthony gave her a quick grin. He had to agree with Tali there.

He had looked at his own markings in one of the beaten silver mirrors, and it had surprised him to see that the lines that had been a bright orange when he had peeled the dried paste off had turned into a dark brown over night. They looked like slightly jagged lines running from his shoulders up to his cheek, a bit like claws grasping his jaw. It looked strange on him, primal and outlandish, but for some reason he didn't mind too much.

"The men are almost ready," he said, and something flickered in her gaze. His hands itched to touch her, and he fought the urge like he always did and moved to her side on the balcony instead, staring down into the yard with her.

After a while, Ziva turned her face towards the rising sun once more, closed her eyes and took another deep breath. "Do you taste that, _ikzin?_ " she asked.

He stared at her curiously and thought harder about running his fingers through her hair. "Taste what?" he replied, and his voice was slightly rough, as if he had just woken.

She smiled again, just a slight quirk of her lips that was gone as fast as it had appeared. "The winds in the Rif can bring a special flavor to your tongue, if you are receptive."

"What does it taste like?" he asked, distracted by his shoulder brushing against hers and Ziva leaning into the touch imperceptibly.

"Whatever the wind brings with it," she said, running her fingertips over the railing. "In spring, it is hope and growth and awakening. In summer, there is a lot of lust. The winter winds are my favorite. They carry the feel of heavy rains, and family, and long nights spent around a fire."

He frowned at her, and Ziva just shrugged in response, obviously lacking the words to further describe what she meant. So he closed his eyes and took a slow breath, concentrating. Nothing happened except that he breathed in and out. It was just air, after all. 

And yet... 

He blinked, turning his head to stare at her when a bitter tang spread on his tongue.

"What _is_ that?" he murmured uncomfortably, and something happened in her face that wasn't entirely pleasant.

"War," she said, and her eyes were cold.

*** *** ***

They rode with five of Ziva's men shortly after sunrise, and there was hardly any rest for the horses that day while they desperately tried to make up for the time Mennadim had cost them with his trickery. They still weren't fast enough to reach Ziva's uncle before sunset.

Ziva was anxious about the need to camp, and he knew that she was tempted to push them on beyond darkness, but it soon became apparent that it was too dangerous to let the horses stumble on without being able to see their way properly.

He watched her across the small fire they had built, and something clenched inside him at the way she stared into the flames without really seeing them, twisting her hands nervously. She had barely said a word the whole day, and he couldn't really blame her. 

Now, she hardly touched the food her men prepared, and when she ignored a question directed at her for the third time, Anthony went over to her, sitting down beside her on the flat rock. She flinched when he put his hands to her shoulders, but he didn't let go, just pulled her closer so she almost rested against his chest. And after a moment, she gave in and stopped fighting the closeness.

He dug his thumbs into her tight shoulder muscles and tried to draw out the tension nesting there. She tried to resist him at first and kept her back stiff and straight, but he continued to rub slow circles on her back, not letting go of her until she softened under his touch. And eventually, he heard a tiny moan from her, even though she bit her lip and tried to stifle the sound.

"I knew a tiny French dancer once who had the most wonderful hands," he murmured close to her ear, and a soft shudder ran through Ziva when his hands found a particularly nasty knot in her muscles. "She taught me a thing or two."

He was surprised at the slightly longing tone that had crept into his voice, and when Ziva turned her head to look at him, he gave her a half-smile and said what had really brought him to her side. 

"You need to keep your act together."

She frowned, of course, and he kept kneading her shoulders while she tensed again under his hands. "Are you chastising me for worrying about my sister?" she asked, a hint of anger showing now.

Anthony sighed. "I'm just saying that you can't lose it in front of your men."

Her frown deepened, and for a second she looked as if she was about to push him away, so he tightened his hold on her shoulders, pressing down once to keep her where she was.

"Ziva. You need to believe with all your heart that we will have her back by tomorrow," he said. Then he jerked his chin to the side, in the general direction of her men. " _They_ need to believe that. And they look to you, so you can't be weak. If you are, they lose their faith, too."

She breathed deeply, just watching him with a frown until he shrugged. "It's just like the theater, Ziva. It's make-believe. Tell them the story they need to hear."

She held his gaze silently, not reacting, but thinking about what he had said. "Why are _you_ so sure that we'll get her back unharmed?" she asked eventually.

Anthony ran his hand down her back a final time, then turned towards the fire, resting his forearms on his thighs. "I rarely look reality in the face."

She didn't have a good answer to that, but her eyes on him felt heavy all of a sudden, and for some reason he found himself hesitant to look at her directly. She shifted slightly and then just sat beside him to watch the fire. Her body was warm against his thigh and a little less tense than it had been just a short while ago.

"Come on," he murmured eventually, taking Ziva's hand and pulling her to her feet despite her feeble resistance. "Let's get some sleep."

"I don't think I ca--"

"Then pretend," he cut her protest short and put his arm around her shoulder to drag her along with him. "For _their_ sake, remember? Act as if everything is hunky-dory."

"Tony," she said, and he flinched at the short form of his name that he hadn't heard in years. Not since his father had told him to be a man about this. 

"Yes?" he asked, his heart pounding hard and fast suddenly.

"Do you think you could tell me one of these stories? The ones you have seen... performed?" He shot her a surprised glance, and she shrugged. The movement felt slightly awkward with her being tucked under his arm like that. "Maybe it can take my mind off... things."

He stared down at her for a moment while he felt her slim frame too clearly against his side. 

"I know just the right one," he said, and his arm tightened around her shoulder before he could help it. "It involves a bored girl, an insufferable vanishing cat and a white rabbit that is running late."

She blinked, letting herself be dragged along now without resistance. "A _white_ rabbit?" she asked when he bent down to roll out their bedding, and he chuckled.

*** *** ***

He woke some time after the fire had burned down to softly glowing embers, and it startled him that Ziva's face was the first thing he saw, close enough that leaning towards her was something he had to fight for a heartbeat. He was pretty sure that she hadn't planned to fall asleep beside him, but it was good to see that she was actually asleep, even though her face was still tense and her forehead was creased into a frown. He pulled his blankets up to his chest while he settled back into his bedding, watching her.

Her fingers twitched nervously in her dream state, and just before Anthony went back to sleep himself, he found the nerve to reach out and put his hand over hers.

*** *** ***

She had rolled almost into his arms during the short night, and maybe that was the reason why he felt the tension that suddenly spread through her body, the tightening of her muscles while she arched in her sleep, fighting something she couldn't ward off.

"Ziva," he grunted, and his hand was on her shoulder before he was fully awake, fingers pressing into the curve of her neck.

She shook against him, and her eyes flew open just as a sound of distress left her mouth. For a moment she had no idea what was going on, and she tried to fend off his hand, gasping when he tightened his grip. Then she realized who the body beside her belonged to, and she froze. 

Eventually, she raised a hand to rub her face, and the unhealthy tension left her body, subsiding into a slight trembling that he probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't kept touching her.

"Bad dream?" he asked quietly, and she looked at him, not saying anything because the answer was obvious. His hand on her shoulder felt too heavy all of a sudden, and he tried to figure out what to do while she bit her lip and tried to meet his eyes in the near darkness. 

He wasn't sure why, but holding her suddenly seemed like the right thing to do, so he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, bedding and all, until her back was straight up against his chest.

She tensed and fought the embrace for a moment, but Anthony kept his loose hold on her until she realized that this was for comfort, not lust. And eventually, she calmed down, and that was when he sighed and burrowed his face into her neck, remembering a night when he had seen Tali do the same.

"It's alright," he murmured, and he felt her skin tighten under his breath. "Go back to sleep."

He could tell that she wasn't used to this sort of closeness from a man, but for some reason she stayed in his arms anyway, and after a while, her breathing slowed down and she relaxed. Just before sleep caught up with him, he felt her fingertips gently touch the back of his hand, and it was the natural thing to do to turn his palm up so she could weave her fingers into his.

*** *** ***

When they rode into the settling where Ziva's uncle Udar lived, Anthony began to feel the nervousness radiating off her in thick, choking waves, and so he kept his horse close to hers while she glanced around and stared at the madness they had stumbled into.

People in what looked like festive wardrobe were singing and dancing between the houses, and no one cared about blocking the way. Musicians abused their drums and flutes in a harsh rhythm, and some men waved at them, asking them to join the fun. Their hands were marked with fresh henna drawings, and that surprised Anthony because aside from the ones on his own body he had only seen women marked with henna so far.

"Looks busy," he said, trying to calm his horse which tilted its ears back at the noisy crowd.

"Looks like the worst possible time to pick," Ziva replied, grinding her teeth.

*** *** ***

Ziva's uncle Udar was a wiry man somewhere in his late forties with an angry, downturned mouth, and he was indeed not amused by the group of tired and dirty travelers disrupting his favorite daughter's wedding. He ushered them into the house urgently and sent the men to the _hammam_ to clean up while he talked to his niece.

He didn't look too happy when Anthony didn't follow his order and stuck to Ziva's side instead, and he was about to bark something at the stranger in anger when Anthony pushed the hood of his _djellaba_ back, meeting the irate stare with some anger of his own. Because tonight, Anthony DiNozzo was not in the mood to be sent away like a naughty child. He was, however, in the mood for an argument, so he squared his shoulders and stared at the Berber with all the righteous arrogance that he could muster up. 

Before he could actually say anything though, Udar had glanced at the henna markings Anthony had exposed, and the Berber's mood shifted into a mixture of annoyance and utter surprise. His eyes flicked to Ziva's face and the symbols on it, and suddenly his eyes narrowed.

"A nonbeliever?" he asked, and to his surprise Anthony found that his language lessons with grandmama Megighda seemed to have paid off... at least when insults were concerned. "Your common sense is lacking, daughter of Eli."

"And your manners are lacking, uncle," Ziva hissed in English, raising her chin defiantly and stepping up into his face with narrowed eyes. "Just like old times then, eh?"

Anthony's eyes flicked from her to Udar while he lost track of the topic rapidly. He wasn't sure what had made Ziva this mad, but he felt the sudden urge to step between the two to dissolve some of the crackling tension. Just when he gave serious consideration to that thought, something changed in Udar's face, softening it quite unexpectedly.

"He is still family, Zivalah," he reminded her gently, switching to English easily, and just like that, Ziva blinked and took a step back. For a brief moment, she looked as if he had slapped her in the face. Then she nodded, pulling herself together visibly, and for some reason, that made Anthony itch with the desire to put his hand to her back, just to reassure her that he was there, even if he didn't have the faintest idea what was going on.

"I have come to collect a debt, uncle," she said, still in English, and that blunt approach, completely foregoing every bit of chitchatting that was usually deemed polite, made Udar frown once more.

"You're a fine one to talk about manners, child," he said, clucking his tongue disapprovingly, but stopped short when Ziva just stared at him, her face serious. And eventually, he sighed. "Well then. Come in. At least let me serve you some tea to make this go down easier."

*** *** ***

ln the end, it wasn't Udar who approved their request, but his wife Nettiya, a skinny woman in a dark brown, multilayered _kaftan_ and a bright blue headscarf that had so many coins sewn to it that Anthony wondered how she could wear that heavy thing without slouching. She tore into the room like a miniature whirlwind while they were on their second glass of tea, and Ziva flinched when Nettiya pulled her to her feet to hug her and press numerous kisses to her niece's cheeks. It didn't take long until Udar rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm and Anthony felt compelled to wrench Ziva out of her aunt's arms so she could breathe again.

Nettiya only stopped the hugging to touch Ziva's chin, mumbling something that sounded even more excited than her previous remarks, but the woman's pleased smile at seeing the tribal markings on her didn't have the same effect on Ziva. She carefully disentangled herself from the older woman's embrace, and while she sat down, facing Udar, she forgot all about protocol and manners and just flat-out told him what had happened and why they were here.

Udar grunted in the middle of her tale and added his own pieces to the puzzle. His men had brought rumors of a Berber, traveling with about a dozen guards, but carefully avoiding any of the tribes' territory, even though it meant that they were taking long detours. That in itself was good news because they had a good chance of catching up with Mennadim now, possibly even during the next day. Cornering him while he was still on the road also meant a better chance of overpowering him and his men.

But Udar got thoughtful when it came to the subject of his own involvement, and when Ziva asked him to send some of his own men with her to pay off the favor he owed her, he first tried haggling with her to get out of his debt, just like she had suspected earlier. Finally he admitted that he was reluctant to send his men away in the middle of the wedding because it would affect his standing. 

That was the moment when Nettiya glared at him and then raised her voice to start yelling at him at a speed that was way beyond Anthony's rudimentary knowledge of her language. What he did understand though was Udar rolling his eyes first, then wincing and later nodding a lot. 

Even later, when they had been led to the room they were supposed to share for the night, Ziva told him that Udar had reluctantly agreed to lend them three of his fighters in the morning, when the wedding would be over anyway. 

Anthony didn't ask what Udar would have done if they had happened to arrive at the first of the seven days of feasting.

*** *** ***

When he returned later from the _hammam_ , feeling cleaner and more relaxed than he had in days, he found Ziva standing on the small balcony of their room, staring out into what passed as streets in these lands and watching the wedding festivities. She seemed so deeply lost in thought that she didn't even react when he came up beside her. Only when he put his hand to her back to let it rest between her shoulder blades, she turned her head to look at him.

"Hey," he said, and the slight bewilderment on her face dissolved into a blank expression that made him sigh. "You know, I heard that he invited us to participate in the feast."

She blinked, meeting his gaze with a distracted frown on her face. "You are welcome to go, then," she replied eventually, and he shook his head.

"Nu-uh. Not without you."

Ziva sighed, turning her face toward the mass of people beneath them once more. "I am not in the mood for song and dance, Anthony. My thoughts are too much with Tali to pretend tonight."

"I know," he murmured, and his hand, clearly having a mind of its own, began to rub slow circles on her back. "But it doesn't help her if you stand here all evening and worry yourself silly."

He watched her raise a hand to rub her forehead, and before she could voice her exasperation, he leaned towards her, his mouth close to her cheek. "Come on, Ziva. Just an hour to unwind, so you can sleep tonight," he murmured, and before he even knew it, his too-fast mouth had gone on without him. "Hell, if it helps, we can even find you a random stranger to relieve some of that tension."

Her shoulders stiffened even more under his touch, and he groaned, letting his forehead rest against her temple. 

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to get a grip on the sick feeling in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to see her with another man, so why had he made that stupid joke? "That was uncalled for."

"I agree," she said, but for some reason she leaned into his touch instead of escaping it. "And I don't tend to sleep with free men anyway."

"Oh? Why is that?" he asked, concentrating on how she felt against his side.

"I..." She hesitated for a heartbeat. "They have a tendency of thinking they own you after that."

"Huh." His hand kept stroking her back, and after a while, she relaxed into the touch while his own thoughts kept drifting. "So you don't sleep with the ones that want you before, and you don't sleep with the ones that want you after," he listed, and she chuckled softly. "That doesn't leave a lot of options, really. Whom do you take to your bed?"

She drew back, glancing at him with a strange mixture of amusement and exhaustion. "You still think this is any of your concern?"

"Yes." He knew that his face was too serious all of a sudden, but he couldn't help it. He _felt_ too serious.

"Huh," Ziva said and turned, staring down at the crowd.

*** *** ***

She gave in after a while and accompanied him, fresh kohl around her eyes and a reddish brown on her lips that made him want to kiss her. But since almost everything made him want to kiss her these days, he pushed the urge away and concentrated on getting them through the crowd smoothly.

It didn't take long until the energy of the dancers and the beat of the drums showed an effect, and to his surprise Anthony found that sometimes Ziva was rather easy to distract. He still saw the worry in her eyes, but for a short while she no longer let it overwhelm her.

Getting her to actually eat something took a larger effort at first, but once she had nibbled on some of the spicy meat he had snatched for them, her body seemed to remember what it had missed during the past few days, and her stomach growled angrily until she wolfed down more food.

He let her wander off and mingle with the crowd after a while, and soon he saw her melt into a group of women, most of them veiled and with henna on their hands. They were dancing, and from the looks of it, they had been at it for a while now, but that didn't diminish their enthusiasm. They laughed and invited Ziva to participate, and after a moment's hesitation she fell into the rhythm of their dance, stomping her feet and shaking her hips until her breath came in harsh gasps and her cheeks glowed. The women kept urging her on until Ziva closed her eyes and moved even faster, and finally, finally Anthony saw her lose some of the awful tension she had been holding on to for the past couple of days.

He watched the women begin to clap their hands while two of them broke into a fast and joyous tune that made his pulse jump to a faster pace even though he didn't understand a word of it. And in the middle of it, Ziva laughed, and her voice, ringing loud and clear despite the chaos of the celebration, sent a shiver of delight down his spine.

*** *** ***

He didn't even notice at first that the girl beside him was chatting to him until she got bold enough to tug at his sleeve. It made him jump, but when he turned and saw a pretty face with luscious lips and big, dark eyes turned his way, he smiled at the girl broadly, just like he had done for the better part of his life. She blushed fiercely at that radiant smile, and for a second she seemed to lose track of what she had been about to say.

Anthony blinked, thrown for a moment by a reaction he was no longer used to. Then he leaned down to her to apologize and tell her that he wasn't alone. 

That was, of course, the moment Ziva chose to come looking for him.

*** *** ***

He knew that Ziva was behind him when the girl's face suddenly froze and her eyes flicked to the side, something close to panic shining in them. He sighed and apologized once more, but she didn't even listen to him, just turned suddenly and vanished into a group of women, her face pale.

"Ziva," he said, turning around to face her. 

He wanted to tell her that the girl had just tried to be nice and that there had been no reason to scare her off like that, and yes, some part of him was so annoyed that he wanted to ask her why she even bothered to reserve rights on him she didn't want to use herself.

His words died on his lips when he met her eyes, though, filled with an unexpected turmoil of emotion, a startling mixture of anger, hurt and need. Her lips were pressed together tightly, but he still saw her chin tremble, and since he wasn't quite sure what was going on with her, he just frowned and waited for her to say something.

Her hands clenched into fists at her side suddenly, and she jerked her chin to the side, into the general direction of her uncle's house. "Inside. Now," she pressed through her teeth, and Anthony obeyed wordlessly, wondering what exactly had brought on that much anger.

*** *** ***

By the time they had reached their room, Anthony's own mood had taken a turn towards sour, and the anger throbbing in his temples made him clench his teeth. When Ziva slammed the door shut behind them, he had already turned to face her, ignoring the deep frown she gave him and showing off his own annoyance instead.

He hadn't planned on losing control of this. He'd wanted to keep a clear head and not yell at her. Of course, his plan didn't work out.

"What was that all about?" he asked her harshly, and Ziva's eyes narrowed dangerously at the tone of his voice.

She came closer to him, meeting his angry stare with one of her own, and he felt his breathing quicken at the heat suddenly radiating off her. 

"As long as you wear my markings," she hissed, her lips drawing back to bare her teeth, "you will be faithful to them!"

He took a few slow breaths, and his hands clenched into fists. Her words and her anger roused his own temper, just like they always did, and when she came even closer, raising her chin at him, he lost what little control he had left, after all. 

"Then give me something to be faithful to!" he pressed out through gritted teeth and leaned into her, reaching for her.

Her eyes widened, and she drew back and inhaled sharply while something like shock crossed her face. And then, just as if someone had lit a match between them, she reacted to his presence and the angry heat coursing through his body. He saw the soft shudder that ran through her, and she tried to step back, and that was when things got out of hand.

He found that he had followed her, had grabbed her face and kissed her, hard. That his mouth crushed hers, and that she was stiff with shock against his chest for a heartbeat. And that, just when he tried to come to his senses, to let go of her, she moaned, and her lips parted for him, and her tongue met his in a heated frenzy that sent waves of shock through his body.

"Ziva," he groaned into her mouth, and she shuddered once more against him. Her hands came up to his chest, pushing him away as hard as she could, and when he stumbled back she raised a hand to her mouth, touching her parted lips in what looked like utter shock. 

He opened his mouth, tried to apologize, but the words refused to come because the desire crashing through him didn't feel like something to be sorry about.

Her eyes widened even more when she met his gaze, and he really, really wanted to say something now, but his voice gave. And then there was no need to speak because just as abruptly as she had pushed him away, her hand was on his chest again, grabbing the hem of his _djellaba_ and pulling him back to her.

Her lips claimed his in a heated urgency that left his mind spinning, and Ziva's hands already went for his clothes while he was still busy with the overwhelming rush of her taste in his mouth. One of her hands went to his neck while he licked her lips, tasting spices and almonds, and he felt her fingernails, digging into his skin so hard that the sensation made him gasp. He pulled her closer unconsciously, his hand on her lower back, his thigh pressing between hers, and she fell into his embrace with a needy sound rising from deep in her throat. The insane hunger she gave him made it ridiculously hard to let go of her, but then her hands tore at his clothing again, and he stepped back to pull his _djellaba_ over his head hurriedly.

Ziva's hands, already busy with unfastening his pants, didn't help and almost robbed him of his control right then and there. His fingers tightened around the cloth of her _kaftan_ when her hand ran over his stomach and lower, and when her fingers closed around his cock, it made him jerk so hard against her that part of her dress tore under his hands. She gasped at that, fingers digging into his shoulder, and he groaned when Ziva made short work of things and just dragged him down to the floor with her. 

Her lips came back to his then, and her mouth was so hard and urgent on his that his own pulse turned into a loud, pounding thing that crashed through his veins. He tried to get her out of her clothes desperately, and she moaned, her hands beginning to tear away what was keeping his body from hers. And then she suddenly arched underneath him just the right way to take him inside her, and just like that, she began to move hard against him, still half dressed, but with her robes pushed just far enough up her thighs to bare her for his flesh. 

He groaned at the sensation, his whole body shaking from the sudden heat that enveloped him, and for a single breath his mind blanked out before he could think that this wasn't right, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen...

But she jerked hard underneath him when he moaned into her mouth and his hands tightened on her hips, and she welcomed his frantic urgency. Her hips met his with the same rude need that burned up his own body, and suddenly there was no time to think and no longer a choice, just his own frenzied thrusts and her nails digging deeper into his flesh, making him lose his mind, little by little, more and more.


	5. Chapter Four

His fingertips ran down her shoulder and then back up again, tirelessly, and the feeling it brought to her skin was strangely disconcerting. Maybe because it was so much softer than their lovemaking had been. 

Her neck throbbed where he had marked her earlier, during the height of their frenzy, and her skin prickled with the sensations he still drew from her with such a simple touch. Ziva blinked, breathing slowly and keeping her mind carefully blank. She felt his body shift in the same rhythm as her own breath while she leaned back against his chest, and his pulse thumped against her shoulder, strong and strangely steady. 

His fingertips made their way up her arm again, and her skin tightened under his hand. She wasn't quite sure which one of them he wanted to soothe with the motion. She was sure, however, that it didn't work. That they were both as much in turmoil as they had been just a short while ago.

And after what felt like a small eternity, he took a deep breath. 

"Well," he said, and even though Ziva had braced herself for it, the sudden sound of his voice startled her. "This complicates things."

She felt a shudder run down her back, and she wasn't sure why her throat was suddenly so tight. 

"It does not change a thing," she replied softly, and his hand stilled on her shoulder abruptly. "When Tali is back, our ways will part, yes?" _It will just make it harder to let you go._

He didn't answer her, and her own question rang loudly in Ziva's ears, sounding all wrong. She bit her lip when his hand tightened on her shoulder, and when he still didn't say anything, she sat up and turned to look at him. 

His face seemed just as carefully controlled as Ziva kept her own. And yet, there was something in his eyes that betrayed his hurt.

"What did you expect from me, Anthony?" she asked, and for some reason her voice sounded flat. "That I renounce all ties to my homeland and follow you to a country I have never even heard of?"

"No," he shot back, his eyes narrowing, but from the way something in his expression shifted, she saw that it had indeed been something along those lines, even though he may not have realized it himself before.

"You know that it will end," she pressed out despite the lump in her throat.

His face showed his sudden frustration and stubborn refusal to accept this, and something inside her wanted to melt at that because her own head kept spinning with the same futile emotions. But eventually, his jaw clenched, and he nodded, and for some reason that simple action stung so sharply that Ziva found herself rushing to her feet, fleeing his closeness. The strange pain in her chest spread further, much more real all of a sudden.

She turned her back to him, and her hands moved mechanically, finally taking off the clothes that still hung bunched up around her waist. Her breathing hitched in her throat when she ran her fingers over the long gash in her _kaftan_. For just a heartbeat, she felt Tony's hands on her body again, so deliciously impatient, and she remembered the sound of tearing cloth that had made her groan with lust at the time.

Her eyes burned and she blinked, trying to ignore the choking feeling that rose in her chest. "Everything is coming apart," she murmured. Her fingers trembled when she dropped the torn piece of cloth.

She flinched hard when his arms were around her suddenly because she hadn't even heard him get to his feet.

"We'll get her back, Ziva," he said against her cheek, refusing to let go when she struggled against the embrace. "We'll get this right."

Ziva felt herself stiffen in his arms, growing more tense with each moment she had to fight her own urge to simply lean back and accept the comfort he offered. Because doing that would just make it a hundred times harder to let him go.

He sensed her reluctance, and after a while his hand clenched on her shoulder and he turned her around to face him, saying her name very softly. He touched her cheek, and she raised her own hand to his chest, trying to keep him at a distance. And she found that it didn't work too well because she couldn't bring herself to push him away this time.

"You need a shave," she stated quietly, drawing a shaky breath while she ran her fingertips over the stubble on his chest.

And because by now he knew her a little, he saw through her attempt at deflection so easily that he leaned down with a slightly pained smile. His palm cupped her chin, turning her face up to him. 

"No, I don't," he murmured against her lips, and Ziva shuddered, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she had already committed the biggest mistake in her life. But she found herself unable to draw back, and when he kissed her this time and slid his tongue into her mouth she moaned and forced herself to relax in his arms. 

One night, then. Just this one night, and that would be the end of it, but until then, she would indulge and accept what he had to offer. 

His hands came up to frame her face, and she gave in, following him into something that was less urgent, but no less potent than their earlier encounter. The love of his body was, after all, a lot easier to bear than his compassion.

*** *** ***

"... and Aunt Em hugs and kisses Dorothy madly and asks her where she's been all that time, and the girl tells her she's been in the land of Oz, but that she's more than happy to be home now," he finished his strange tale.

His chest moved in time with his breathing underneath her cheek, and his hand was drawing lazy circles again, this time on her back. They had made it to the bed this time, and even though they were both still too troubled to go to sleep, they were at least more comfortable now. 

Ziva blinked, feeling her eyes burn with the overwhelming need for sleep. She sighed, vaguely uncomfortable after the tale Tony had chosen for tonight.

"I should have asked you for a happy story," she said eventually, and his fingertips on her skin stilled for a moment.

"It's supposed to be a happy one," he replied, but his voice sounded unsure, and suddenly he didn't seem too convinced of this, either.

"Oh." Ziva ran her hand up his bare side while she thought about it once more, and he shivered at the touch involuntarily. "She leaves the creatures she has come to love for a dreary place with little food and a sour-faced woman. That is supposed to be happy?" 

He nodded, and she could have sworn that for just a moment, his arm tightened around her. "I don't understand it, then," she said, and he tensed suspiciously as if he were clenching his jaw again. 

And then he suddenly relaxed against her as if nothing had ever been wrong. 

"That's because you have no brains," he said, quoting Dorothy, and Ziva snorted, pushing herself up into his arms and kissing him to shut him up.

*** *** ***

The bed was empty when she woke, and for a moment, she felt cold. Then she heard Tony rummage around in one corner of the room, and when she sat up, she saw that he had already dressed and packed their belongings.

He turned his head when he heard her move, and for a moment, his eyes dropped to her neck and the mark his hungry mouth had left on her earlier. Then he met her gaze, and she saw a wall that had not been between them last night. 

She felt her own eyes widen at that, and she was tempted to ask what would happen now, how they would deal with all of this. There was no point to it, though. She already knew that they wouldn't touch it again. That at some point during the night he had made a decision of his own, and it seemed to mirror hers. 

"Get ready," he said, and all she could do was nod. Her fingers tightened in the sheets for the span of a heartbeat.

*** *** ***

In hindsight, Ziva couldn't remember the point when he had taken control of the situation. The first time she really noticed it, though, was when he gave her the orders for her men and she merely translated how Anthony expected them to behave when they reached Mennadim's party. And for some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, Ziva stressed the fact that they were supposed to obey his orders at all times - or lose their heads.

She repeated his instructions when Udar's men joined them - slightly bleary-eyed after seven days of feasting, but obedient. He had picked two good fighters and the one that had been closest to Mennadim's group, so they would be on the trader's track quickly.

Tony was so deeply lost in his own thoughts while he saddled his horse that he didn't even notice Ziva watching him. His hands, strong and talented, worked fast and in that sure way of his that shook her now more than ever. And that was when it suddenly hit her that she would really miss him once he was gone.

She turned to her own mare, petting the horse's neck absentmindedly.

*** *** ***

They didn't talk much during their ride, partly because they wanted to cover as much ground as possible... and partly because anything they could have talked about would have been a painful subject, for various reasons.

They did make good time, and when one of the scouts came back to say that they had caught up with their prey, Ziva felt her fingers clench around the edge of her saddle. 

It was hard work to remind herself of Anthony's words and not just ride off with blood in her heart and a war cry on her lips.

*** *** ***

"Anything?" Ziva whispered, coming up beside Anthony slowly to crouch behind the stone ridge that gave them enough cover against casual glances from Mennadim's men.

The trader had made his people set up camp in a small dale earlier, not noticing once that Ziva and her men had followed them for more than two hours. She had seen their hands grip their sabers every now and then, and she knew that the bloodlust ran high in them, which made it a small miracle that they had all obeyed their orders so far and had carefully kept out of sight of their prey. Each of them was loyal to her and to Tali, after all, and she knew that at least two of them had shared her sister's bed repeatedly. It was no wonder that they all wanted to rip off Mennadim's balls and feed them to him.

Anthony's eyes narrowed while he tried to get a better glimpse at the camp and the men moving around below them. He was stretched out flat on the ground, leaning his shoulder against the stone while he watched the Berbers cautiously.

"Not yet," he murmured, keeping his eyes on the camp. "They haven't settled for the night yet. We need to wait until most of them are asleep before we make a move."

"I know." Ziva bit her lip. "But it feels wrong to twiddle my thumbs while Tali is within my sight."

That made him turn his head to look at her after all, and she swallowed hard at the intensity in his stare. He reached for her hand, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she met the motion halfway.

"You'll have her back in no time," he said softly, and then he pressed his lips to the back of her hand before turning back to his watch.

"Have you seen her?" she asked, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

"No. I'm guessing she's in one of the tents there, to the left." 

She didn't have to follow the motion of his chin to know which tents he was talking about. She had stared at both for longer than felt healthy.

His skin was so warm against hers, and he kept such a firm grip on her hand that her world eventually narrowed down to just the feel of him. After a while, she couldn't help but spread her fingers to let them mingle with his. He stiffened beside her the tiniest bit, and if she hadn't touched him at the time, she probably wouldn't even have noticed it. And of course she understood him but she couldn't bring herself to let go to make this any easier.

"Ziva," he said suddenly, and his voice was very soft in the almost-darkness of the mountain ridge. She still flinched. "Why did we go to your uncle for help? Why not to your father? Assuming he is still alive, that is."

She blinked, staring at Anthony's profile that was suddenly hard to make out in the dim moonlight and through the mist that seemed to obscure her sight.

"He is," she managed to press out after a few moments of a silence so deep that it hurt her ears. "But I rarely seek out the reasons for my nightmares."

He turned to look at her once more, and she saw that he wanted to say something, maybe give her one of his flippant remarks. He kept his mouth shut when he saw her expression, though, and while he watched her, something in his own face shifted. And then he pressed her hand again, very briefly and just once.

"Maybe that's why they keep coming back," he said. When she drew a shaky breath, he turned back to watching the camp beneath them and pretended not to notice.

*** *** ***

"Three guards," he said a short while later, back in their own camp which made do without tents or fire. "He's still expecting attacks, it seems, so we need to take out the guards first, as quickly and quietly as possible."

Ziva translated his words for her men, and she saw them nod in response, their faces grim. Even Udar's men showed the same expression, a mixture of disgust and resolve written all over their features. They weren't too fond of Rifi who stole their women, and they were just as determined to put an end to this at all costs.

"You," Anthony said and pointed at Tafsut, who was incredible when it came to handling the dagger. Then he turned to face the shorter of Udar's fighters, who had proven to be almost as quick and agile. "And you. You'll go down with me first, and we'll take out the guards, if possible, at the same time. The rest will stand back until we signal that the guards are taken care of. No shots, and not a single sound from any of you while we attack. If you so much as cough until Tali is freed, you lose your balls."

Ziva watched her men nod once more, with grim smiles twisting their mouths and their hands gripping daggers and sabers. They lost everything that could jingle or clang and thus give them away at an unfortunate moment, and Ziva, who had long shed her headdress, now took off her belt with its metal decorations.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Anthony's question, uttered in a low voice that still transported his tension, made her frown, and she turned only to find that he had come up to her, almost touching her. His sudden closeness was disconcerting, and she swallowed while she tried to control the sudden urge to lean against him.

"Getting ready for a raid." She carefully took a step back and kept her eyes lowered to not betray the harsh pulse pounding in her temples suddenly.

"Ziva," he said, and that made her look at him after all.

" _Tony_ ," she replied pointedly and raised her eyebrow at him.

He clenched his jaw, and she was sure that right now he had to fight the urge to yell at her. "I don't want you to lose it down there," he said eventually. "I think it's safer if you stay here."

" _'Safer'_?" she hissed, and he flinched at the harsh sound. " _You_ were the one who told me that I need to keep up appearances in front of my men, and now you won't allow me revenge? What do you expect them to think if I'm not the one to punish what has been done to my sister, for reasons of... _safety?_ "

She gasped when his hand closed hard around her elbow, and for a heartbeat she wondered if he would resort to tying her up to keep her out of this fight. His eyes narrowed, and there was clear anger in his face, but also concern, and that was what made her step close to him and put her hand to his chest. His heartbeat was so strong against her palm that she felt something inside her soften.

"I _cannot_ wait here," she said, leaning into him, and she felt his chest heave under her touch as he looked to the side. His other hand came up to her waist, and his fingers spread, flexing as if he had to fight the urge to grab her harder.

"Same rules to you then," he said quietly, his voice low and intense. "You stand back until you get the signal that the guards are cleared. And I don't want to hear a single sound from you."

"Or I lose my balls?" she chuckled dryly.

He didn't share her mock amusement, and the laughter died on her lips when she met his gaze and saw the turmoil in his eyes. And before she knew what was going on, he went against his own resolution, and his hands came up to her cheeks, drawing her closer for just one moment. He pressed a hard kiss to her lips before he turned and left her, and Ziva felt a strange, sudden weakness tug at her insides while she watched him vanish into the darkness.

*** *** ***

Tony's orders made sense, and Ziva intended to stick to them and only do what she had been told. If they were as fast and as stealthy as he wanted them to be, they would stand a much better chance of overpowering Mennadim's group than rushing them with blades bared would give them, that much was true. So when they went down into the dale eventually and Ziva moved towards the group that would be opposite Tony's, she didn't do it because she planned on being disobedient, but for two other reasons.

One was to keep his mind clear. She knew that he would spend more time worrying about her if she were by his side. That his attention would be split between her and what he was about to do, and that was too dangerous a thing to allow it.

The other reason was that the group she had chosen took her closer to the tents.

Ziva watched her people fall into an eerie silence. Tony and his two chosen fighters had taken off their _djellabas_ so they would be able to move more freely, and Tony had also smudged his lighter skin with dirt to blend better with the darkness.

For a moment, her gaze lingered on his broad chest. For the first time she noticed that he had lost weight since she had first seen him, but that balanced itself out nicely with the way his muscles were toned after their long hours of training. 

She blinked, turning away. One more thing she would miss about him.

It didn't seem fair - getting Tali back only to lose him. And yet, neither of them had a choice in this. Of course, she could just decide to keep him with her, after all. But that would drive him away from her just as effectively.

Ziva tried to keep her breath calm when she turned to the East with two of their men. It wasn't easy because she felt the weight of Tony's gaze on her back.

*** *** ***

The grass was cool underneath her hands, the soft blades slightly damp with the first hints of dew. It felt like she had lain like this for hours, just staring into the night and waiting for something to happen. In reality, she knew that only a few minutes had passed since they had moved through the oleander bushes and then dragged themselves closer to the camp on their bellies. Still, Ziva's muscles ached with the need to move, to do _something_ , until keeping still was almost painful in itself.

She saw one of the guards get to his feet and stride through the camp, and her fingers itched. How long would Tony make them wait?

The call of a bird Ziva had never heard before rang softly through the night, and she frowned. Her fingers tightened in the grass. Then Tafsut moved beside her, and she realized with a start that the strange sound had been Tony's signal.

The guard closest to them fell without a sound, Tafsut's hand clamped over his mouth and a dagger stuck in his throat. Ziva saw a brief flurry of movement at the other side of the camp where Udar's man was taking his target down, but she had lost sight of Tony, and so all she could do was what she had been told to - wait. 

She bit her lip, and while she kept listening for another bird sound, she realized that the man she had seen on the move earlier was not one of the guards. He had reached the tent that was the furthest away from her now, and when he opened the flap, she caught a brief glance of light brown hair and wide eyes she knew too well.

Ziva moved before she even knew it, completely forgetting about rules and signals and danger.

*** *** ***

She ducked low between the tents, but it was a half-hearted move. Right now she couldn't have cared less about being stealthy. All that mattered now was reaching Tali and reaching her fast.

The man didn't even turn around when she slipped in through the tent flap. 

"Get out, Ayit," he said over his shoulder, concentrating on the girl in front of him. "I won this, fair and square."

Ziva moved closer while her pulse pounded hard in her ears. She saw how his fist grabbed Tali's hair close to her head. Saw the tears of pain it brought to her sister's eyes. Saw the way he tried to push her to her knees while his other hand fumbled with his pants.

He died a heartbeat later, Ziva's dagger driven deep into his chest and a surprised expression on his too-young face. His fingers, slack now, slipped from Tali's hair while a mixture of shock and disbelief flashed across the girl's face.

"Ziva," she whispered, eyes still so wide, her lips trembling hard. And then they held each other, and Ziva wrapped her arms so tightly around her sister that they both had trouble breathing for a moment.

The hand that suddenly grabbed Ziva's hair and hauled her away from Tali was so strong that she felt her neck muscles protest against the sharp jerk. She tried to turn around and attack whoever had managed to sneak up on her like that, but the grip in her hair tightened so much that she felt a few strands give. The sudden pain drove angry tears to her eyes, and she snarled at her attacker. A second hand came up to her neck then, and long fingers pressed down on her throat.

"You really do like to make a nuisance out of yourself, don't you?" Mennadim's voice was a sharp, vile thing against her ear, something so sly and intrusive that it sent a cold shiver down her spine. She tensed and tried to get out of his hold, but the moment her hand came up to grab his wrist, his grip on her throat tightened even more. "Move and I break your neck."

Ziva ground her teeth, glancing at Tali, and when she met her sister's eyes, she saw something so close to panic in them that she shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. She didn't want to know what he had done to put that expression on Tali's face.

"Tell me, Ziva," he murmured against her cheek, and she felt herself tense up involuntarily. "Are you always this possessive with your pets?"

She clenched her jaw and didn't reply, but maybe he had seen something on Tali's face that made him hum with satisfaction now. "Ah, I see... cousins? Sisters?" He chuckled at the way her body's sudden rigidity betrayed her. "Oh, you two will fetch a fine price from the right buyer..."

"No!" Tali suddenly yelled, coming out of the frozen shock. She threw herself at the trader, and her hands were like claws, going for his eyes.

Ziva cried out when she felt his hands shift on her neck, just before his fingers pressed down hard on two points. The pressure did something to her, and when he tossed her to the side like a discarded doll, she fell to her knees, her muscles limp all of a sudden. Her vision blurred, and she tried to raise her arms to soften the fall, but even that didn't work, and she tumbled to the ground. She gasped, trying to take in great gulps of air while she felt her control over her own body slip away. 

There were sounds from a brief struggle, but they reached her as if through a dozen layers of cloth, clouding her senses. Something that sounded like a fist striking flesh ended the fight before it really had begun, and Ziva's hands merely twitched when she tried to clench them into fists.

"Tali!"

"Ah, so that is her name." Mennadim's voice was above her, making her head spin with the need to get away from him, and Ziva blinked rapidly, trying to get her vision to clear. A hand touched her stomach, and she ground her teeth and fought the urge to scream.

"You know," he said, and there was a weird lilt of fascination to his voice, "I never realized just how much fight there is in you, Ziva."

Her wrist throbbed from the fall, and her hands came up, disgustingly weak, fingers clutching at his wrist ineffectively. She concentrated on hurting him then, gritting her teeth and forcing her muscles to obey her with every bit of willpower she had left. She knew that eventually her nails dug into his skin hard enough to draw blood. Still, he laughed, and it sounded almost affectionate.

"Oh, you're a good girl," he chuckled, and Ziva felt her stomach churn. "I think I'll leave you some of that spirit for a while..."

She clenched her teeth and fought to stay conscious, fought to get her full vision back, but whatever his hands had done to her, she was still numb. Mennadim was a dark shadow looming over her, gradually coming closer, and she wanted to scream her anger into his face and shove him away, but she had exhausted her reserves and her body no longer obeyed her command.

And then, just when the fleeting thought crossed her mind that she didn't want Tali to see this, there was a shot close by, louder than a rifle's discharge, and it made her ears ring with the force of it. A dark stain spread rapidly on the blurred shape that Mennadim's face was to her, dark enough to be his blood. Then he fell like a stone beside her.

"Ziva," she heard Tony's voice, and relief flooded her so suddenly that it took all the fight out of her and she lost consciousness after all.

*** *** ***

She came to her senses abruptly when a cool, wet cloth touched her face, and her body tensed instinctively, ready for another fight.

"Ssh," Tali said softly, and Ziva shuddered at the feel of fingers touching her forehead tentatively. 

For a moment, she leaned into the gentle touch. Then her eyes snapped open when she realized that it had indeed been her sister speaking.

Tali watched her face with the ghost of a smile playing around her tense mouth, and Ziva blinked, fighting back the tears of relief. She wasn't sure how long she just lay like that, her head in Tali's lap, touching her sister's hand and drinking in the features she hadn't seen in too long.

"Where's Tony?" she asked eventually while her fingers wove into Tali's, and a slight confusion disturbed the girl's face before she made the connection.

"Anthony? He's outside. Cutting off Mennadim's head and sticking it on a pike, as warning." Her voice was cold, impersonal, and Ziva wasn't sure if the words or the tone in which they were spoken felt more unsettling to her. "He didn't want me to do it."

Ziva breathed deeply while she let that sink in; her hand tightened around Tali's. "With reason," she said cautiously, but her sister just shrugged. 

"As long as it gets done."

Ziva couldn't help the frown that drew her brows together, and she found herself looking at Tali carefully, searching for something in the young face that she couldn't name herself.

"Are you alright?" she asked eventually.

Again, Tali just shrugged. "I will be, now." The slight smile came back, and she ran her fingertips over Ziva's forehead again, tapping the henna marks at her sister's eyebrow softly. "Never thought I'd see you marked as proud wife."

Sudden heat spread on Ziva's cheeks and neck, and she tensed again, her mouth opening to... what? Deny it? Find an excuse? She wasn't even sure how to explain it to herself, so what could she tell her sister? 

While she still searched for the right words, the flap of the tent was ripped aside and reddish light outlined the man staring at them. Ziva sat up, meeting his eyes with a new kind of unease. Tony's face was so carefully guarded and almost blank in its grimness that it made her skin crawl, and for a moment it seemed as if there were a few lines around his eyes that she hadn't seen before.

"Sun's coming up," he said eventually. "Let's get out of here."

*** *** ***

They left nothing behind except the burning remains of a camp that had been taken by surprise. They cut the trader's horses loose and took nothing with them, and even though Tony mourned the loss of the pistol he had taken from one of Mennadim's men, he agreed with her that robbing these dead wouldn't be worth the taint.

When she reached for Tali's hand to help her sister climb up into the saddle with her, she realized for the first time that they left no survivors behind while none of her own people were hurt. She glanced at Tony, biting her lip.

*** *** ***

They didn't stop to rest. Each of them wanted to get as much distance as possible between them and the dead camp, and so they rode on and pushed their horses. They hadn't brought a spare one for Tali, so the girl rode with Ziva and Tony, changing rides every few miles to keep the mares from tiring too soon.

Tali was the first to give in to exhaustion after a night without sleep, and so she drifted in and out of consciousness after a while, her head resting against Tony's shoulder, his arm around her waist to keep her from slipping. 

Ziva watched them out of the corner of her eye. There was a dark mark on her sister's cheek where Mennadim's fist had struck her. Maybe it was one of the reasons for the grim expression on Tony's face while he held the girl close to his chest protectively.

*** *** ***

Udar didn't ask any questions when they arrived at his house at late noon. He just nodded at them and motioned to his men to take care of the horses.

Tali had her eyes closed, and Ziva wasn't sure if she was asleep or unconscious. She bit her lip while she watched Tony get off his horse and carry her sister away as if she weighed nothing. He didn't say a word, just went into the house after Udar had nodded at him, then carried her to the same room they had slept in two nights ago.

She followed him just as silently, and while he put Tali down gently in the middle of the bed, Ziva took off her robes and then got into the bed with Tali. She touched her sister and wrapped her arms around her waist, just like Tali had so often slept with her. The girl tensed at the touch and woke, but Ziva murmured her name, drawing her closer, and just like that, the trembling subsided and Tali relaxed, leaning back into her sister's arms.

It was that simple motion that made Ziva finally take a deep breath. She pressed her face into Tali's neck, breathing in the familiar scent she had already thought lost, and for a tiny moment, she gave in to the shudders that wanted to overwhelm her. She blinked, her vision blurring.

Anthony moved beside the bed, and she turned her head to meet his gaze, finding the same mixture of anger and numb exhaustion in his eyes that she felt herself. She raised her hand, reaching out for him, and for a while he just stared at her hand that hung in the air between them. Then his eyes flicked to Tali's face, and Ziva felt her sister turn her head to look at him, too. Maybe that was the thing that made him strip down to his pants and join them, cuddling up to Tali's other side quietly so that the girl was between them, safe in their embrace. Ziva felt his hand on her arm, both resting on Tali's hip, and she bit her lip, avoiding his eyes this time.

"Tomorrow," Tali suddenly mumbled, making them both jump.

"What's tomorrow, sweetheart?" he whispered back softly, and the tone of his voice sent a shiver down Ziva's spine.

Tali's hand came up to pat his neck in a slightly uncoordinated way. "You will tell me what turned you into my brother-in-law, yes?"

Ziva felt him freeze, and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard.

"What?" he asked, and she felt his stare on her even though she couldn't see it because the weight of his gaze was almost a physical thing.

Tali, almost asleep again and oblivious to the sudden tension between them, just shrugged in their arms. "You wear Ziva's markings."

"They just say loyal," he said but his voice sounded as if he was no longer sure about that. "Right?"

"Oh, yes." Tali chuckled softly, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hand slid down to rest on his chest while she buried her face into Tony's neck. "They say loyal." She sighed softly, almost, almost asleep, and so she missed the way Ziva's arms tightened around her. "Loyal husband."


	6. Chapter Five

He woke from the now almost familiar tension spreading through Ziva's body, and he rolled towards her, his hand already on her back and stroking her before he had noticed it himself. And it was strange, really, but she seemed to relax almost as soon as he touched her. 

He kissed her cheek when she settled down because he couldn't help it, and she mumbled something in response and turned in her sleep. For the briefest moment, he was tempted to pull her into his arms and stay like that for the rest of the week. Then he just sighed and raised a hand to rub his tired eyes, and that was when he realized that Tali was no longer in bed with them.

He found her on the balcony, huddled on the ground, her eyes staring blindly at something that clearly wasn't the spectacular sunrise. She glanced at him briefly when he sat down beside her and tucked his feet under, pretending not to notice that his shoulder touched hers.

"Hey," he said, and a hint of liveliness came back into her features, even though she didn't reply.

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, silent, barely touching. Just enough to feel that someone else was there. Once, his thoughts drifted idly to the women he'd had in his life so far and how they had all been so chatty and expected him to talk just as much. He wasn't quite sure how to get adjusted to that again when he went back.

"Do you remember?" Tali said suddenly, and Tony turned his head to look at her. The bruise on her cheek had darkened into something ugly over night, and he realized for the first time that her eyes were rimmed with a slight red as if she had cried. "When you asked me how I would deal with becoming a pet?"

"Yeah," he replied, shifting uncomfortably because in hindsight the question felt like mockery. He put his hand to her back, rubbing it in small circles, and there was a distinct trembling underneath his palm that he tried to ignore.

"I didn't do as well as you did," she said.

He met her eyes that were just a little too wide to look normal, and because he didn't have a good answer to that, he just kept stroking her back until the shudders running through her lessened. She held his gaze for longer than he would have expected. And then she suddenly turned and fell into his arms, curling up in his lap while one of her arms went around his waist and her fingers clutched his back.

For a moment he froze, stunned and not quite sure what to do with her now. Then he sighed and began stroking her back again, like one would do with an upset child. That was how Ziva found them a long while later.

*** *** ***

When he finally paid a visit to the _hammam_ to clean up, the dirt came off easily enough. The tautness of his muscles stuck, though, and he returned to their room with enough tension lingering in his body to make him feel restless.

"But I don't want him to go!" he suddenly heard Tali's voice rise on the balcony, and he froze, his heartbeat jumping to a faster pace. "Ziva! Make him stay!"

He felt his pulse hammer in his temples, and his hands tightened into fists before he could control the impulse. _There's no place like home,_ a small voice somewhere inside his head mocked him. But then another, even smaller one, chimed in to demand, _Yes, Ziva. Make him stay._

"I can't," he heard her say, and her voice sounded just as defeated as he suddenly felt.

*** *** ***

Tali found him in the yard later as he picked up his exercises to focus his thoughts, and he tried to concentrate while she sat down and watched him, with narrowed eyes and her mouth set in a grim way. It wasn't just Tali's stare that distracted him, though, and eventually, he gave up and sat down beside her. He sighed and leaned back on the bench, waiting for her to talk even though he knew that with either of the sisters this could take hours.

"Why can't you stay?"

The words caught him by surprise after all because he hadn't known this was about him. He took a slow breath while he tried to sort his rampant thoughts. A dozen things to say ran through his mind, and they had all made sense at some point. Right now, though, each of them sounded like a lie.

"Not doing what is my sworn duty," he said eventually, and she turned her head to look at him, "would be like Ziva not coming for you. It's just not the right thing to do."

He met her gaze, and her face was a little paler than it had been before. He blinked, raising his hand to touch her cheek, and she flinched before she could control the impulse. Carefully, Anthony lowered his hand again, and Tali turned away from him, closing her eyes while she drew up her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"You should talk to your sister," he said, and when she shook her head, he sighed. "She needs to know, Tali."

Again, she shook her head, clutching her knees tight. "She's _Ziva_ , Anthony," she said as if that explained it all. And strangely, it did. "Not knowing makes it easier for her to forget."

*** *** ***

It was tempting to procrastinate, to put off departing until the next day, and the next, and the next. Because one more night didn't matter all that much, after all. And because it was so tempting, they decided to ride the next morning after a breakfast held in silence.

Ziva decided that Tali was to stay with Udar for now because she didn't want to endanger her sister any more than necessary, and going all the way to Tangier and back was not something she wanted to do to Tali after what she had just been through. Udar surprised them by offering fresh horses for the travel, on the promise that Ziva would bring them back healthy when she'd return to pick up Tali.

The girl started crying when Tony said his goodbyes in the yard, and he felt a strange ache spread in his chest when she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him. He hugged her tight while he turned his face into her hair, breathing in her scent, and the thought that this was the last time he would ever hold her was a strangely painful one. He had to push her away eventually with more force than he wanted to use, and she stumbled back and then suddenly turned and ran, wiping at her face angrily. 

When he walked towards his horse his gaze fell on Ziva, who had turned her back on them, refusing to watch the scene. He saw that her hands were clenched so tightly around the edge of her saddle that her knuckles where an off white.

*** *** ***

He wasn't quite sure what really happened during the three days they traveled together. They didn't talk much during the days. At some point, they seemed to have simply run out of words that weren't painful. Tafsut and another of her guards whose name Tony kept forgetting accompanied them, and after a few poignant glances between them the men just shrugged and accepted the strange mood they were in.

The sunsets and sunrises where the things that stuck to his mind mostly, not for their beauty, but for the marks they set towards the moment when he would have to go back to a life he wasn't used to any more. 

They tried to keep some distance between them to make parting easier when it finally came, but after the first night, spent tossing and turning without getting any sleep, Tony saw her spread out her bedding beside his when they made camp the next evening. She didn't say a word but when she lay down and turned so he could put his arm around her waist, he felt her shudder, and he wasn't quite sure if she was cold or crying.

He whispered to her then, telling her more stories that he had read or seen on stage to distract her. He kept talking while he buried his face into her neck, and she listened to his tales silently, just drawing his arms around her more tightly. She didn't comment on his stories, only spoke up during _Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens_ because she was sure that he had made that one up himself. There was a boy named Tony in it, after all. He hadn't, but sometimes he thought that he was as much a coward as the Tony in the story was, so it was easy to relate. 

Sleep didn't come all that much easier that night, but it came, eventually.

*** *** ***

They were getting closer to Tangier when Ziva led them to a _caravanserai_ at sunset and told him that they'd spend the night here instead of camping outside. Her men groaned in approval because they were sore and tired of sleeping on the ground, but Tony felt a strange tightness in his throat. For some reason he was sure that this would be their last night.

*** *** ***

She bartered with the owner of the _caravanserai_ and rented two chambers for the night, one for their men and one, apparently, for Tony and her. She was still not really talking to him, and it was just as well because Tony had no idea what to say and how to make things right.

They put their few things into the room she had rented, and he stared at his own hands, holding on to the bundle of blankets that had been his during the past nights. And then he drew in a deep breath and turned because it was too much and too intense, and all he suddenly wanted to do was run from it all and forget it had ever happened.

Her hand on his chest stopped him, and he stared down at her, watching her tense face.

"Tomorrow, you will reach Tangier," she said, her voice a dry rasp, and his hand came up to clench around her upper arm. She gasped and raised her eyes to look at him, shaking her head softly. "I release you from my service, Anthony. You are no longer mine to keep."

His jaw clenched as she stepped back, and very carefully he opened his hand and let go of her. 

_Sticks and stones, my boy, remember that. Words can never hurt you._

He swallowed hard, wondering if his mother had ever known how wrong that saying really was.

*** *** ***

He watched her across the open fire, and she held his gaze stubbornly, her face just as frozen as his own felt. Her men had long given up to talk to her and were chatting to some of the other traders now that were sharing the yard of the _caravanserai_ with them. Some part of Tony noticed the noise of a dozen different voices around them, the cries of an irritable mule every now and then, the excited babble of more voices when food was brought out in one group of travelers.

The biggest part of his attention was focused on Ziva, though. On the way red sparks danced in her eyes from the light of the campfire. The way her mouth was set in a tense line that still made him want to kiss her until her lips softened for him. Her hands, gripping the hem of her _kaftan_ and twisting it. How she stared into the fire and shook her head when she was offered something to eat.

She didn't raise her eyes when he got to his feet eventually and crossed the distance between them, and she didn't look at him when he stopped beside her with the back of his hand almost brushing her shoulder. She knew that he was there, though, and Tony felt his heart beat harshly in his throat when he finally made himself move and walked towards the direction of their quarters.

*** *** ***

He heard her close the door when he had just taken off the _djellaba_ and stood only in his pants, and he took a deep breath while he tried to feel strong enough to face her. It still jarred him when he finally turned and met her eyes only to find the same useless emotions swirling in them that tore through his own mind.

"Tony," she said, and he just shook his head and closed the distance between them.

He felt the soft shudder that ran through her when he raised his hands to her waist, spreading his fingers on her hips while he drew her closer. And while they stood like that, he felt her breathing pick up speed, just like that. Because it was just the way she reacted to him, and she couldn't help it, just as he couldn't help his own response to her closeness. 

His hands were strangely steady when he opened her belt and began to take off her clothing, piece by piece, slowly, methodically. Each layer less between them made her shake a little harder, and when he finally took off her undergown and went down to his knees in front of her, she clutched at his shoulders hard, tension rippling through her. He tried to ignore it and ran a hand down the side of her leg instead, his fingertips teasing her skin from her hip all the way down to her ankle, and when he tapped them gently against the side of her foot, she raised it so he could take off her sandal. 

He did the same with the other foot, and then he leaned back, staring up at her and taking in her naked body. The tight nipples on perfect little breasts. The way she tried to suppress the shivers running through her. He let his eyes travel over her belly, her mound, and for a moment his gaze clung to the valley where her thigh curved into her hip. Truly the softest place on a woman's body, and one of the most sensitive ones, too.

She gasped when he leaned forward to press his lips to that softness, and while her fingers dug into his shoulders again, he licked her skin, just tasting her while his hands rested on his own thighs, not even touching her. A soft noise rose from deep in her throat, and that made Tony look up and stare at her face that was now lost in a different kind of tension than mere minutes earlier. Her eyes were shut tight while her lips parted in a gasp, and he leaned into her again and pressed his face to her belly for a moment, rubbing his cheek against her skin.

When he rose to his feet eventually, he felt her sway with the unexpected movement, and he held her, his hands coming to her waist again to steady her. She blinked and looked at him with suddenly wide eyes, and that was when he kissed her. 

His mouth was careful with hers, gentle, and even when she moaned his name against his lips, he held back, not letting the sensations overwhelm him while he ran his hands over her body. 

He had always just lived right in the moment when it came to pleasures of the body, and every woman he had ever been with had been a treasure, an affirmation, something to be savored, just for the sake of the experience. By the time he had lost some of his control and carried Ziva to the bed, though, it occurred to him that he had never made love before just for the memory of it.

*** *** ***

He felt her clench around his flesh when he drew another release out of her, and while her head fell back and pleasure tore through her body, he felt her nails dig into his back, and he desperately tried to hold on, tried not to let this come to an end.

She cried out when he slipped his thumb between her legs, coaxing even more shudders out of her, and her heated reaction made it so hard to detach himself from the sensation and ignore the needs of his own body. Her skin was slick with sweat underneath his hands and tight with want, and when he raised himself above her to stare at her face, his arms trembled with a tension that suddenly felt like too much to bear.

And then she said his name, so very softly, and when she put her hand against his cheek, he closed his own eyes and kissed her. 

And he let go.

*** *** ***

The room was dark. The sun had long gone down and neither of them had thought about lighting a candle. But it didn't really matter because the darkness didn't keep them from feeling each other, and in some ways, not seeing made certain things easier.

"I thought you didn't sleep with free men," he said suddenly, and his throat was tight.

Ziva was silent for such a long time that he almost wanted to believe she had fallen asleep under the soft exploration of his hand, but then a shiver ran through her and she turned in his arms to rest her cheek on his chest. 

"I forgot that with you before," she replied, and he pressed his lips to her forehead while he drew her closer.

*** *** ***

They spent the better part of the night awake, lost in restless agitation that kept them from finding sleep.

A few times, each of them tried to say something. Neither of them did.

*** *** ***

He watched her saddle her horse with a lump in his throat. For a moment he wondered if she would even say goodbye to him or just ride off to make this easier.

Eventually, she turned and came towards him, her eyes flicking over the ground nervously and not meeting his.

"I can't go into Tangier because my past would catch up with me then, so from here on, you are on your own," she said, her hands dancing nervously over her thighs. "If you ride straight north-east, you should reach the town before sunset."

He felt himself nod as stiffly as a puppet someone else was commandeering. All he could suddenly do was stare at her, drink in the lush curve of her mouth that was so tense this morning, the dark eyes that were still flitting around anxiously. He swallowed hard, and then his mouth opened, and he couldn't help the words that tumbled out.

"I'll miss you," he said, and that made Ziva look at him after all.

For a tiny moment, her eyes widened, suspiciously shiny, and Anthony braced himself for words that never came. Instead, her gaze flicked down to his neck, and her hand came up to follow the path of her eyes, touching his neck so softly that it made his throat tighten.

"My markings are fading," she said, and there was a tired sadness to her voice that made him take a step towards her. Ziva flinched, stepping back and almost falling while she avoided his grasp. And then she suddenly shook her head and ran towards her horse, signaling to her men while she mounted her mare and rode out of the _caravanserai'_ s enclosure without glancing back.

*** *** ***

One day, flowing by with just the sun beating down on him and every additional mile tearing another splinter from his heart.

For some reason, the lure of going home seemed so much smaller than before.

*** *** ***

Tangier was noisy, and smelly, and stuffed full with people of almost every color imaginable. Anthony soon felt his head spin with a dozen different languages hammering away at his hearing, and he gritted his teeth, trying to make his way to the harbor as fast as possible. On closer inspection, 'out of here' sounded almost delightful.

He found a young marine at the docks who looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow even though he was almost a head shorter, and Anthony met the man's stare with a grim expression of his own.

"Officer Anthony DiNozzo, Naval Intelligence," he pressed out through gritted teeth. 

It was almost comical how the boy deflated right before Tony's eyes, stuttering an apology and taking him straight to the Gunnery Sergeant on duty. Strange how the mere mention of a rank could outweigh looking like a native.

*** *** ***

The office he was led to and told to wait in felt tiny and too constricted after the wide landscape he had become used to, and he grew restless soon, pacing up and down and sneaking glances out of the one window.

He could see one of the warships anchoring from here. The _Baltimore_ , his old girlfriend. He remembered the feel of her decks under his feet. There had been times when he had longed to have that again, riding on her back towards adventure. 

He heard the sound of a door opening, and he wondered, mildly curious, who had come to gawk at him this time. By now, every single American in Tangier must have found an excuse to pop in and stare at the officer they had thought lost.

"DiNozzo," a calm voice said, and Anthony's pulse gave a tiny jolt because he knew the man that voice belonged to. "Guess this means I win the pool."

He turned, staring at Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, who, in turn, ran his eyes over Anthony's clothing, his unruly hair and the fading henna marks. Tony was pretty sure that there were a lot of other small things Gibbs noticed in his quick once-over because that was just a thing he did, but his face remained strangely calm and he didn't let any of his thoughts show when he raised his hand and offered it to Anthony.

"The pool, sir?" Tony asked and shook the Gunny's hand. Strong grip, no-nonsense, just like he remembered it.

"Everyone else was betting that you're just a bag of bones by now," Gibbs replied with a shrug, then gave Anthony another glance that was a little more intense than the previous one. "Glad to see you're not."

This time, Tony sat down when he was offered a chair. He wanted to laugh at the statement, but could only manage a wry smile. 

"Yeah. Me, too, sir." He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his neck. "So what did I miss? I saw the _Baltimore_ out there, but where's the rest of them?"

"Home," Gibbs said, and something in Tony clenched at the simple word. 

Gibbs pretended not to notice and sat down at the simple desk, opposite from Anthony. He opened a folder, pushing around some papers without actually looking at them. "Two weeks ago, Ion Perdicaris was released into our custody after the ransom was paid in full."

" _What?_ " Tony felt his hands grab the armrests of his chair, and he leaned forward, not caring that Gibbs' eyes watched him very carefully now while the older man held up his hand to silence him.

"That's one of the things you missed, DiNozzo. Turns out the President might have acted a little... prematurely," he said, and Tony frowned at the careful tone of his voice. "Seems like Perdicaris hasn't been an American citizen for a while, so it was deemed... _prudent_... to draw as little attention to that fact as possible and take the easy way out after all."

Tony heard the anger underlying that simple statement, and he had an idea about what Gibbs himself had thought about that decision. Good for the re-election, bad for the men risking their necks over here. 

"My team?" he heard himself ask, his voice suddenly strained.

"Back home, too. All unharmed."

Tony found himself nodding while he leaned back in his chair, his fingers dancing over the smooth wood of the armrests. "Makes it pretty damn useless that I came here at all, doesn't it?" he pressed out eventually, and Gibbs cocked his head at him while his mouth twitched.

"Depends on what happened to you out there, son."

*** *** ***

He had opened the window of the office to escape the stale air, sitting on the sill and holding his face into the gentle breeze. Strange how he had already gotten used to the Moroccan windows that weren't covered by glass, so much that it felt almost suffocating now to have that window closed. He breathed in deeply. Wood, metal, a distant hint of smoke. Just the flat scent of it, nothing tangible.

His face was a distorted reflection in the colored glass of the window and looked unfamiliar. Part of it was the deep tan and the new lines around his eyes. The marks on his neck. The blond shimmer in his hair after so many days of the sun beating down on him. But there was something else that didn't seem quite like the Anthony DiNozzo who had come to this country, and he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

He wondered how long he would have to wait for the Gunny's return. Gibbs had been called away in the middle of their talk, and even though most of what was important had long been said, Tony felt restless and eager to close this chapter of his life. 

It was strange to suddenly feel so... useless, for lack of a better word. Without a purpose, now that what had needed to be done no longer... needed to be done. 

The _Baltimore_ caught his gaze again, a beauty in greys and whites, and he blinked as something shifted in his mind. The taste of spices and almonds came back to him, and a sudden frown drew his brows together. _So why_ would _anyone go back to the grey and dreary place, really, when there were all the colors in the world to be had?_

The sound of the door made him jump, and his head whipped around when Gibbs came back, looking at him curiously. He had more papers in his hands, and Tony suddenly didn't want to know what was in them. He didn't care.

"So," Gibbs said. "Ready to get back to your life, son?"

Anthony's heartbeat jumped to a harsh, pounding rhythm because for a moment his tired brain insisted that Gibbs had said _wife_. A simple word, so scary only a few weeks ago. Now, it made him feel strangely content.

He leaned back against the wood of the window frame, and a sudden smile spread on his face. It was such a huge and silly one, even to him, that he didn't want to know what Gibbs thought of it, but he couldn't help it. The sudden rush of feeling just wanted out.

"I think I'd rather start living, sir," he replied. And for some reason, his chest no longer felt quite as tight.

*** *** ***

He spent most of the evening with writing down the report Gibbs expected of him, even though he left out a lot of the things that had no place in official papers.

After that, he composed a letter to his father, which he'd give to Gibbs the next morning with the plea to see that it was delivered it to his old man. 

For a moment, he was tempted to explain his actions, but since his father wouldn't understand them anyway, he didn't bother and concentrated on the bare facts. Precise words with no emotions attached were something his father treasured, after all.

*** *** ***

It was a strange thing that resigning his duties took much longer than swearing him in had taken. 


	7. Epilogue

Ziva punched the adobe block with the heel of her hand until it fit snugly with the others she and Tali had placed before. The wall of the new stable was growing slowly, and just like the barrier she had begun to pull up around her own heart, it would require a lot of hard work until it would be finished. But hard work was a good thing, a thing that distracted her, and it kept her mind from wandering too far.

She wasn't sure when exactly she noticed that Tali had fallen silent beside her, hands resting on the wall that reached the height of her waist by now. Ziva frowned, staring at her sister's face that was blank all of a sudden, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. And then, when Tali noticed Ziva's gaze, she raised a hand and pointed out what she had been staring at. 

The rider coming over the hill was just a dark silhouette against the sun at first. And yet, she knew him. She'd know that shadow from every other. Her heartbeat rose to a thunder in her ears, and she felt lightheaded as she straightened and rose from her crouch, watching him while he came closer. 

It couldn't be. 

And yet, here he was.

He didn't say a word when he dismounted and came to her. His face was tense when he finally stopped in front of her, and his hands flexed as if he wanted to reach out for her but didn't quite dare. His breathing was harsh, and she wasn't sure if that was from the ride or from the turmoil she saw so clearly in his eyes.

She stared at him in confusion, drinking in his appearance, and suddenly, while she watched him like that, something in his face softened. He leaned towards her then, so close that for a moment she was sure he would kiss her, right here, in broad daylight. But then she just felt his lips brush her cheek, moving softly.

"In my land, the wind has no flavor," he muttered. 

Then he pulled back again, and as he turned to greet Tali, she heard her sister squeal in utter delight.

Ziva closed her eyes, swaying slightly because she suddenly felt dizzy. 

She let her head fall back and breathed in deeply, tasting the wind. Gorging herself on the flavor of promise.


End file.
